


Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

by AidanChase



Series: Harry Potter: Everyone Lives AU [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27278362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidanChase/pseuds/AidanChase
Summary: James and Lily — and Remus and Sirius — had done everything that they could to protect him. They would, as long as they were alive, put themselves between Harry and Voldemort. And if the prophecy was true, that only Harry could defeat Voldemort, then the only chance Harry’s family had of surviving this war was if Harry finished it on his own.How different would the world of Harry Potter be if James and Lily lived?This work is marked as Gen; ships will largely, but not entirely, align with canon.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Christian Thelborne, Harry/Ginny, James/Lily, Ron/Hermione
Series: Harry Potter: Everyone Lives AU [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/111713
Comments: 315
Kudos: 222





	1. The Dark Lord Ascending

**Author's Note:**

> It's... here. I don't want to keep you long but we do have some general housekeeping:
> 
> 1 - I am well; I am grateful to be working from home, but as a teacher it is exhausting. For now, updates will be every other week. I will keep you informed as often as I can.
> 
> 2 - Find the AU on Social media! We have [Twitter](http://twitter.com/hpeveryonelives), [Tumblr](http://hpeveryonelives.tumblr.com), [Discord](https://discord.gg/g9Fnx8S), and a [wiki](https://harrypottereveryonelivesau.fandom.com/wiki/Harry_Potter_Everyone_Lives_AU_Wiki)!
> 
> 3 - Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you to my beta team! ageofzero, magic713, ccboomer, aubsenroute, and somebodyswatson have been a 5-person beta team for nearly 2 years now, and I don't know how I was surviving before I had their help. If you've noticed the upswing in quality of the last two books, you have them to thank for it.
> 
> 4 - And of course a huge thank you to you, dear reader! I hope you are safe and well. Whether you have been with me for all 6 and a half years to date or whether you binged it all last week, I'm just so excited to see through to the end of this journey with you, however long it may take to get us there.
> 
> And now for a perspective I literally never thought I would write....

The table was dimly lit, but the fireplace behind the head of the table spread across the white marble floor and cast a ghostly pallor over the faces of the witches and wizards seated around the long dining table. Their stiff expressions did not make them appear any more lively.

Lord Voldemort, seated directly before the fire, was shrouded in shadow. His white hands, however, reflected the firelight almost as easily as the silver sword resting on the table did, and the firelight glinted in his red eyes just like it glinted off the rubies set in the sword’s hilt.

The snake, Nagini, slithered along the cool, smooth floor near Lord Voldemort’s feet, then slowly climbed up his chair. He stroked her head and reminded her to be patient. Dinner would come soon. Voldemort had a point to make first.  
Footsteps echoed from the high ceiling and two more wizards entered the room. The first — tall, blonde, and broad-shouldered — still wore his Ministry badge pinned to his robes. Behind him walked another man in billowing black robes, with stringy black hair, and a sallow complexion. His solemnity fit in perfectly with the crowd gathered around the table.

“Yaxley, Snape,” Lord Voldemort said in a high voice. “You are very nearly late.”

The blonde man, Corban Yaxley, approached Lord Voldemort’s chair at the head of the table, knelt, then took the seat Lord Voldemort directed him to, an empty space beside Antonin Dolohov. Severus Snape approached next and knelt, but when he stood to take his place at the table — a space usually found at the end, near Gibbon and the Carrows — Lord Voldemort laid a hand on Snape’s wrist.

“Here, Severus,” and Lord Voldemort directed Snape to sit at his immediate right, beside Pyrites. It was a place once held by Bellatrix Lestrange, who now sat further down, not far from Lucius Malfoy.

Voldemort ignored the daggers that Bellatrix glared at Snape. Snape had served him best in the recent weeks, and deserved this point of honour. Bellatrix, however, had done little but fail and disappoint him. And then there was the matter of her cousin and her niece…

But there were more important things to be concerned with at the moment. Shaming the Black family could wait a moment longer.

“So?” Voldemort asked Severus, eager for his news.

“My Lord,” said Snape in a soft voice, “the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from the Potter estate on Saturday next, at nightfall.”

Voldemort noticed the way Snape’s voice seemed to curl around the name Potter, like it was a poisonous potion he dared not hold onto for long. Voldemort knew there was no love lost between Snape and the Potters, but he also knew that a year ago, he had peered into Harry Potter’s dreams and seen Severus Snape’s long-held affections for Lily Potter. Snape may have just returned to his fold with the greatest proof of his loyalty, the murder of Lord Voldemort’s most dangerous enemy, but he still wondered just how trustworthy Severus was.

It was easy enough to find out. 

Lord Voldemort stared into Severus Snape’s dark eyes, searching, using his long-practiced gift of Legilimency to unravel Snape’s thoughts. He found a memory of Snape sitting in a bar, discussing with a squat man — “Mundungus,” the barman called him, in an irritated voice — as the man, under the pliance of drink and perhaps a potion or two, freely informed Severus Snape that the Order would be moving Harry Potter and his family next Saturday.

“Good,” Voldemort smiled. “Very good. And this information comes —”

“— from the source we discussed.”

From the Order itself. From the fools who allowed their guard to be let down long enough for Severus to manipulate them into spilling everything he needed to know.

“My Lord,” Yaxley interrupted, and leaned forward on the table to look directly at Voldemort.

Voldemort pulled his gaze from Snape and glanced at the man who seemed so small so far down the table.

“My Lord, I have heard differently.”

Lord Voldemort did not think that the Ministry could be any better informed than Severus Snape, and he was shocked that Yaxley had the arrogance to presume so. But he supposed Severus Snape’s rapid advancement in ranks was enough to incite envy among his followers. They wanted to prove themselves. He could indulge them for a moment.

“Dawlish, the Auror,” Yaxley continued, “let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen.”

Snape smiled. “My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible.”

“I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain.”

“If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain. I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry.”

Alecto Carrow laughed, a high-pitched wheezy thing that reminded Voldemort of a sow squealing. “The Order’s got one thing right then, eh?”

A few others echoed her laughter. Lord Voldemort did not. His gaze drifted from Yaxley to the main feature of the dining room, the feature that all in the room pointedly ignored. Over the table, dangling by her ankles, was the body of a woman, turning every so slowly. She was unconscious — for the moment.

But she held little interest for Voldemort just now. He considered Yaxley’s suggestion that Potter would be moved right before he turned seventeen. It would be sensible, he thought, to move Potter shortly before the Trace was lifted. At that point it would not matter how deep the Death Eaters had gotten into the Ministry; they would have great difficulty finding Potter if he did not want to be found. However, he trusted Severus, and he knew of the Potters’ great disdain for the Ministry. It was like them to behave rashly, to flee somewhere outside the Ministry’s reach, and as quickly as possible.

“My Lord,” Yaxley continued, “Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy —”

Voldemort held up his hand, and his follower obediently fell silent.

He turned to Snape. “Where are they going to hide the boy next?”

“At the home of one of the Order,” said Snape. “The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order can provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest, and take them at their home.”

Voldemort turned his gaze back to Yaxley. “Well, Yaxley? Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”

Yaxley sat up a little straighter, puffed his chest out. “My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have — with difficulty, and after great effort — succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.”

Desire to impress indeed. Antonin Dolohov clapped Yaxley on the shoulder, and a few of the others around him murmured their approval.

“It is a start,” Lord Voldemort said, “but Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister’s life will set me back a long way.”

“Yes — my Lord, that is true — but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.”

Voldemort considered this. “As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest. At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels.”

“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, though Voldemort wished very much that someone else might make an attempt to prove themselves. He was growing tired of Yaxley’s ineffective information, and this statement was no better. “We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately.”

“He will not do either,” Snape said. “The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place.”

“All the better,” Voldemort said, grateful once again for Severus Snape. “He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far.” He turned his gaze away as Yaxley sank back into his seat. If Potter was going to travel in the open, that meant Voldemort would have to be out in the open as well. There would be no sneaking into a poorly protected home and murdering a child in his bed. But it had to be done.

“I shall attend to the boy in person,” he told his followers. “There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs… I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans.. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.” 

A cry of agony interrupted Voldemort’s train of thought. He recalled the prisoner below his feet, in the cellars of Malfoy Manor, and pulled his gaze from the woman above the table to Lucius Malfoy.

“Lucius, is your house-elf good for nothing, if it cannot keep our prisoner quiet?”

“M-my Lord,” Lucius bowed his head slowly. 

“Draco,” Narcissa said in a calm, quiet voice, “find Winky. See to it that our Lord is not disturbed again.”

The young man with pale, blonde hair and an ashen face seemed eager to leave the table. He glanced up at the woman above the table just once, then disappeared into the Malfoy’s kitchen.

Voldemort had found the house-elf Winky to be useful, though frailer than he would have liked. He had stayed in the Crouch family home for the year before his return to his body, and the house-elf had, under Barty Crouch, Jr.’s control, helped keep him alive in his half-life form. And then, after he had returned to himself, after he had looked into Regulus Black’s eyes and seen nothing but hatred and revulsion, and after Regulus Black had so very nearly revealed Voldemort’s secret — his Horcruxes — Winky had helped him again. He had gone to the caves he had explored as a boy, where he had hidden Salazar Slytherin’s locket, and had the house-elf show him the proof of Regulus Black’s betrayal: the small silver locket, with a simple note inside. Voldemort had burned the parchment immediately, but the words themselves were forever seared into his memory.

_I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more…_

It had sent Voldemort into a rage. He had taken Winky to check on his other Horcruxes, the ones he knew could be at risk. This elf had been weaker than the first he had used, but at least it had survived both the curses surrounding the locket and the curses surrounding Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. That had been intact, too, safely stored in Lestrange’s Paris estate, but Voldemort could not risk it staying there for long. Though Severus insisted that Regulus Black was not in the Order, and had not made contact with Dumbledore, it was a risk too great to ignore, and so Voldemort had entrusted the cup to Bellatrix Lestrange. Her family’s vault in Gringotts was as safe as Hogwarts, he was certain.

Lucius, of course, had seen to it that his diary had been lost. Lucius had been soundly punished for that. As for the diadem, Voldemort was confident that no one else could know where he had hidden it; no one else could know Hogwarts as intimately as he did. And then there was the matter of Lord Voldemort’s grandfather’s ring… The Gaunt family home was far too public a place, too close to the site of his resurrection to visit safely without fear of the Ministry’s interference. Soon, though, he would have control over the Ministry. Soon he would be able to visit the site for himself and check. But surely it was safe. No one but Dumbledore had known the truth of his family, and with Dumbledore dead… 

“As I was saying,” Voldemort looked back at his followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter.”

He was not surprised by their shock. He had perhaps hoped one or two might be eager enough to impress him, but he did not blame them. Their wand was their mark of power; no true pureblooded wizard would desire to give that up.

“No volunteers? Let’s see… Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore.”

“M-my Lord?”

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.” 

“I…”

Voldemort noticed the way that Lucius turned to his wife for assistance. It grated on him and he resisted the urge to curse Lucius then and there, but he did restrain himself, for Lucius reached into his robes, and drew his wand. It was a sleek, dark thing, and he passed it to Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort turned the wand over in his hands. The custom fit handle, a snake with its fangs bared, was almost comical when he considered Nagini and the true terror she inspired.

“What is it?” Voldemort asked.

“Elm, my Lord,” said Lucius.

“And the core?”

“Dragon — dragon heartstring.”

“Good.”

Voldemort withdrew his own wand, which had served him so well over the years, and compared it to Malfoy’s. He hardly had a moment to note the stark difference in colour before he saw Lucius’ hand reach — ever so slightly, an involuntary movement — but Voldemort turned his cold, red gaze on Lucius.

“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”

Some of the others around the table laughed, but Voldemort did not.

“I have given you your liberty, Lucius. Is that not enough for you?”

Voldemort saw movement near the doorway to the kitchens. Draco had finished what his mother had sent him to do, and seemed unsure if he should return to the table. When he realised that he had been seen, he hurried to his mother’s side.

“But I have noticed,” Voldemort said as the boy took his seat, “that you and your family seem less than happy of late… What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?”

“Nothing — nothing, my Lord!”

“Such lies, Lucius. Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?”

“Of course, my Lord.” With a trembling hand, Lucius wiped away the sweat that had begun to form on his upper lip. “We did desire it — we do.”

Narcissa did not look at Lucius, nor at Voldemort, but she nodded once in agreement. Draco, for his part, started to look at Voldemort, but could not bring himself to. He glanced back at the woman dangling over the table, then down at his lap.

The Malfoys’ manor had been Lord Voldemort’s base of operation since the death of Barty Crouch, Jr. Losing his most faithful servant to Regulus Black had also cost him a safe place to avoid the Ministry. Lately, the Malfoys had been under more scrutiny from the Ministry, and Voldemort knew they were not pleased with the attention. But in the same vein, Voldemort was displeased with them. Lucius had failed to retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, and as a result, Voldemort had lost many of his most valued Death Eaters to cells in Azkaban. Then young Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore — not that Voldemort had never truly expected the boy to succeed.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix, with her voice full of its usual fervor, said “it is an honour to have you here, in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.”

Her family’s house, Voldemort thought. What an interesting choice of words. He did not think much of family, though he called the Death Eaters his family. People who relied on others, who trusted others, were weak. Even he had made that mistake, trusting Lucius and Bellatrix, who had failed him, and Regulus Black, who had betrayed him more fully than anyone else. Regulus Black was Bellatrix’s family far more intimately than Lucius Malfoy.

“‘No higher pleasure,’” he said. “That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”

His praise brought tears to her eyes, as it so often did. “My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”

“‘No higher pleasure’…” he said once more, and turned Lucius’ wand over in his hands. “Even compared with the happy event your family has scheduled this week?”

The Malfoys seemed unaware of what event he was referring to. Bellatrix stared, mouth half-open as she worked to unravel Voldemort’s riddle. 

“I’m talking about your niece, Bellatrix, and yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She is, as I hear it, preparing to marry the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.”

The table erupted into laughter. Though Narcissa did not flinch, did not even seem surprised by the news, Bellatrix’s face flushed with both shame and anger. 

Good, Voldemort thought, even as Nagini hissed at the loud outburst. He stroked her absently. It was time that the Black family paid for Regulus’ crimes. Bellatrix owed Lord Voldemort more than she would ever know.

“She’s no niece of ours, my Lord!” Bellatrix had to shout to be heard over the jests and taunts of those at the table. “We — Narcissa and I — have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries!”

Though Bellatrix’s passion was admirable, Voldemort was far from finished. “What say you, Draco?” He did not need to shout; the table went silent as he opened his mouth. “Will you babysit the cubs?”

The level of noise rose once more as the table erupted into laughter. Draco Malfoy, for his part, was concentrating very hard on his lap. He did not look up at the comment nor make eye contact with anyone, though his ears burned red.

Lord Voldemort was surprised by the boy’s stalwart display. From what Yaxley had told him, Draco had played quite the coward at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Well, at the very least, Voldemort had one thing to be grateful to Draco for. Though he had done it unwittingly, the boy had brought Voldemort the Sword of Godric Gryffindor.

“Enough,” Voldemort said, and the laughter faded away. “Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said to Bellatrix. “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest. From your niece to your traitorous cousins…”

“Yes, my Lord,” she said, on the verge of tears once more. “At the first chance!”

“You shall have it.” Voldemort noted that Narcissa said nothing, but he supposed the shame she had just experienced would have to suffice. She was not properly one of his followers; she was merely Lucius’ wife, and his gracious host, after all. And she had been willing to give her son to his cause. “And in your family,” he turned from Narcissa and Bellatrix to the table, “so the world. We shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain.”

Lord Voldemort used Lucius’ wand to reanimate the woman hanging above the table. She moaned and her body twitched with attempts at movement, but there was nothing she could do against the magic that held her in place.

“Do you recognise our guest, Severus?”

All eyes turned to the woman as she rotated slowly. Her face was brilliantly red in the firelight as her blood drained to her head, and her eyes were wide with terror. She certainly recognised Severus.

“Help,” she said, her voice weak and terrified. “Severus — help me —”

“Ah, yes,” Severus said, voice calm and even.

“And you, Draco?” Voldemort asked. 

Draco did not move. He had become as still as his mother.

Voldemort considered for a moment that this might be insolence, but he decided the boy was simply terrified. “No,” he said, “you would not have taken her classes. For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

This resonated with a few of Lord Voldemort’s followers. A witch at the end of the table even cackled in delight.

“Yes,” Voldemort continued, “Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles. How they are not so different from us…”

Dolohov spat on the floor.

“Severus,” Burbage gasped as her face turned to meet his again. “Severus, please…”

Draco looked up at this, then quickly back down. Severus was unchanged.

Voldemort flicked Lucius’ wand and Silenced the woman. “Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the _Daily Prophet_. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance. She would have us all mate with Muggles… or, no doubt, werewolves.”

There was no more laughter. They understood. Voldemort was calling for an entirely different humiliation. Though her cries could no longer be heard, the tears streaking her face, falling into her hair and on the table, were obvious. Her gaze met Severus’ once more, and once more, Severus showed not an ounce of pity or sympathy.

“ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” Voldemort said. The bright green light filled the room, briefly, then struck Burbage in the chest. She fell to the table with a thud. Draco jumped out of his chair and fell backwards onto the floor. Several others stood and stepped back in surprise.

Voldemort stroked Nagini’s head. “Dinner, Nagini.”

The large snake slithered forward. Her jaw opened wide and she began to consume her meal in one large, long bite.

A few of the Death Eaters looked on, fascinated. Some looked away. Voldemort focused on the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, still lying before him on the table.

He had some time to complete his ritual. He could feel the familiar damage to his soul. Damaging it was simple; there was no pain in it. It was the rending that would hurt. He looked down at his hand, examining the papery white skin. Bluish veins stood out across his bones. He looked less and less human with each Horcrux he made. He wondered how many he could make before he would simply cease to be.

His plan to have seven parts of his soul separated out and hidden had gone awry. He had lost two already. Four more remained in safety, hopefully. As soon as he had control of the Ministry, he could check on the Gaunt residence outside of Little Hangleton. If the ring was not there… If it was not, then that was one more betrayal on Regulus Black’s head. That was one more strike against Bellatrix and Narcissa and their foul family that should have been made of such noble stock.

He stood, and all of his followers stood too. Draco, who had only just gotten back into his chair, jumped to his feet.

They understood that the meeting was over, and they began to leave. The sight of a python slowly consuming the body of a full grown human was an unpleasant thing to witness. Nagini would likely take an hour to consume her meal. The Death Eaters found this act either too grotesque or too dull, and began to filter out of the Malfoy’s dining room.

They all left, except for Severus, who stayed at Voldemort’s right hand, though he was not watching Nagini. His eyes were on the sword.

“Have I failed to reward you enough, Severus, for the great loyalty you have shown me?”

Severus did not look up from the sword. “No, my Lord, it is not that at all. I was only considering what you might plan to do with Hogwarts, now that it is within your grasp.”

Voldemort had considered this, but it was not one of his priorities at the moment. He wanted the Ministry under his thumb before he made any plans for the future youth of the Wizarding world. “Is that what you wish to have as your reward?”

“I will serve in whatever way my Lord sees fit.” Severus even punctuated this statement with a small bow.

Voldemort recalled the scrawny, greasy half-blood that had first received his Dark Mark all those years ago, and then a few years later had come rushing in with news of a prophecy, urgent news that needed to reach the Dark Lord’s ears immediately. Who would have thought that that young man would someday have shown Voldemort such incredible loyalty by killing his greatest foe?

“We shall discuss it again, once Potter is dead, and we have the Ministry in our hands. Victory is within our grasp, Severus.”

“My Lord.” And Severus left without sparing a glance at Burbage’s body.

Alone at last, Voldemort took Lucius’ wand and began to draw the runes for his ritual into the Malfoy’s table. He had practised these runes for hours in his dormitory beneath the Black Lake, comparing the shapes in his parchment to those in his books, checking each stroke for perfection. He had sat on the floor in the Chamber of Secrets and tried the spell for the first time, after killing that stupid, loud-mouthed girl. It had been long and painful, but he had carried the ritual out perfectly, and his diary had become his first Horcrux.

By now, he had read and performed the ritual so many times he was intimately familiar with it. He stared at the Sword of Gryffindor, thinking it was a fine replacement for the locket Regulus Black had stolen from him. At least the Malfoy boy had done this for him. Maybe the child was not a complete waste after all.


	2. In Memoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius makes an attempt to grow up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. Work was very overwhelming this week. And probably next week too... but then I'll have a holiday! And that will feel good!
> 
> Also, apparently when I write a bunch in advance and dole it out slowly, I feel more compelled to perfect the chapters, vs the once-a-week updates where I was laying track as we chugged along. Now that I have a map, I keep adjusting the trails we're taking to our destination.
> 
> Anyway, enough of my metaphors. Enjoy the chapter. And uh, for an Everyone Lives AU, I may have... gotten a bit sad...

“So do you live in London?” Sirius asked, unsure what to say.

The man on the other side of the table shook his head. He wore a silk scarf that was brightly coloured. It was such a stark contrast with the black jacket and dark jeans that Sirius had initially thought that the man was a Wizard masquerading as a Muggle.

“Just here on holiday,” he said jovially, and took a sip of his bottled drink. He had called it an “alcopop” and that was when Sirius had decided that he was not a wizard after all. Sirius was just too out of touch with Muggle trends.

“I’m glad you got home alright last night,” the man said. “To be honest, I didn’t actually see you go into your place. It was like you were there on the pavement, then suddenly you were gone.”

“Maybe you were as drunk as I was,” Sirius said.

It had been a few weeks since Dumbledore’s death, a few weeks since Tonks and Remus had finally formalised their relationship, and exactly twenty-two hours since Sirius, James, and Lily had talked them out of eloping. Sirius wanted to be happy for Remus and Tonks — and sometimes he was — but last night he had made the selfish and reckless decision to abandon the Potters and slip out to London and disappear into a drink.

Or, more accurately, several drinks.

“Thanks again for your help getting me home,” Sirius said. If he had tried to Apparate in his state, he would have splinched himself terribly.

“It was no trouble. Well, there was a cab fare, but,” he tipped his drink to Sirius and smiled gratefully. “Though I gotta say, who names a park like that Grim-Old Place?”

Sirius gave him a wry smile, wondering how likely it was that the Black family had founded that area and named it themselves, back when the founders of Hogwarts had only just conceived the idea of a magical school. But that wasn’t a joke he could make with this man. He wondered how you joked with people you didn’t know. Sirius had been friends with James, Remus, and Lily for so long, he couldn’t remember what it was like to meet someone new. Even Regulus, who he could only just recently count as a friend, had enough shared history with Sirius that there was a foundation. What did you say to some guy you met in Soho, who helped your wasted ass home and slipped his number into your back pocket?

“A good question,” Sirius said, and fidgeted with the handle of his mug. “Probably some creepy old family with more money than they knew what to do with.”

The man in the scarf laughed, and Sirius felt a little more confident.

“Well, at least they’re long gone, eh?”

Sirius’ discomfort must have been obvious because the man across the table raised his eyebrows. “Christ, they’re not the people you still pay rent to, are they?”

Sirius noted the distinctly Muggle interjection. “Actually, it’s my place now.” 

He didn’t say that it was the home he had grown up in, run away from, and come back to so he could protect his brother who had broken out of prison. He didn’t say that he had only agreed to live there again with the promise that Remus would stay with him for part of the week to make it bearable. He definitely didn’t say that he never should have gone back there last night, nor that he was lucky to have survived the night, drunken stupor aside, since Snape could easily have betrayed Grimmauld Place’s secrecy to Voldemort.

“Oh!” The man’s smile widened. “You own your own place? In London? That’s great.”

Sirius snorted. “My brother still has the castle.” Though Sirius wondered if it wasn’t actually Andromeda’s. He had not been around for the inheritance battle over Uncle Alphard’s will. He had taken his money and run. “Anyway, I don’t stay in London often,” he added. “Mostly I live with friends.”

The man leaned in closer when Sirius mentioned the castle. “And these friends let you drink alone in London? Seem like poor friends if you ask me.”

“I just needed to be alone for a bit, you know?”

“You didn’t act like you wanted to be alone last night. You kept saying you wanted to invite me in, but you were worried about getting caught. I assumed you had a very strict landlady — or a wife.”

“Did I?” Sirius hardly remembered stumbling into Grimmauld Place. He did remember the vision of Dumbledore rising out of the floor. He had drunkenly stammered out that it wasn’t his fault and had cursed himself for returning to Grimmauld Place at all. He didn’t remember climbing the stairs, but he had woken up in his own bedroom, found the phone number in his pocket, and staggered down to a payphone. He hadn’t meant to get a date out of it, but here they were.

“I’d have taken you back to my hotel if you weren’t so thoroughly trashed.”

Sirius knew by the grin on the man’s face just what that meant, and he thought that if he needed a few more drinks to agree, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. He was trying to be better at good ideas, rather than impulsively throwing himself into bad ones. Last night had been a bit of a backslide on that front.

“Thanks,” he said. “But — sorry, I don’t mean… It’s just that my friend’s getting married tomorrow.”

Understanding settled into the man’s face. “You don’t mean your ‘friend’, do you?”

Sirius hesitated, but he had never been one to lie. “I’m happy for him — really — but… I don’t know. They’ve known each other a while, but they’ve only been seeing each other properly for a few weeks.”

“Is she pregnant?”

Sirius choked on his drink, surprised by the bluntness of the question and queasy at the thought of Tonks — his baby cousin — being pregnant.

“Sorry — I didn’t mean —”

Sirius shook his head and grasped for any other line of conversation. “So what do you do for work?” 

It was a risky question, since he didn’t have an answer himself. He may not have dated since just after the first war, when he had been certain that his friendship with Remus was over, but Sirius was still fairly confident that “disinherited layabout who relies on his best friend’s money to get by” was not an attractive answer, and he couldn’t exactly say he was too busy fighting in a magical war to stop and look for a job.

“Oh, I don’t work,” the man said, and relief washed over Sirius — temporarily. “I’m a student at the Uni of Manchester.”

He continued with something about where his folks lived, and about staying with them before going back to university, but Sirius wasn’t listening anymore. He tried to wet his suddenly dry palate with a sip of his drink, but it didn’t work. When whatever-his-name-was had finished talking about his parents’ house, Sirius asked, “How old are you?”

“Er — nineteen.”

Merlin, he was hardly older than Harry. He looked older, with his crisp jacket and dark jeans. His shoes were even well-polished. Though Sirius was a bit out of touch with Muggle fashion, he would have at least put his date in his late twenties or early thirties. He looked so well put together. Sirius had been a complete mess at nineteen — not that he was much better now.

“How old are you?” the boy asked suspiciously. Boy, because Sirius could not see him as anything else any longer.

Sirius rubbed his eyes and wished the ringing in his ears would slow down just a little so he could think properly. “Thirty-nine.” Merlin, he was almost forty. He had no business being out with a student. He got to his feet.

“I don’t mind,” the boy said. “Really.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re hardly older than my godson. Sorry, you seem like a nice kid —” the boy flinched, “— but I couldn’t.”

“At least take me to this wedding. Let this guy see what he’s missing out on —”

“It’s not like that.” Sirius knew there was no explaining to this kid what his relationship with Remus truly was. “Sorry, really. I hope you enjoy your holiday. Thanks again.”

“Come on, I didn’t even get your name.”

Sirius shrugged. “I didn’t get yours.” And he left, half-finished drink still on the table, berating himself as he did.

He knew that he should’ve been with James and Lily last night, even if it had been full of wedding planning. He should’ve been with the people who understood what he was going through, not a stranger in London. Sirius was too old to drink himself to distraction.

He ducked into an alley not far from the pub and Apparated onto the pathway just outside that low, crumbling stone wall that marked the edge of the Potter’s property. The change in scenery was obvious not just in his surroundings, but in the very air he breathed. Sirius had always preferred the fresh countryside to the stifling atmosphere of London. It had been foolish of him to leave the Potters’ in the first place.

In the grass just beyond the wall were the lines that appeared every summer, marking the old building where Linfred of Stinchcombe had once sold potions on the roadside to Wizard and Muggle alike. Of course, magic hadn’t been a secret in those days. Sirius’ family had probably been parading their magic in front of nobles and courtiers, while James’ had been helping people recover from illnesses in a time when magic was the only available cure.

The sun was already low in the sky as Sirius began his walk to the Potters’ house. He was always impressed by how fast the day could slip away when he spent half of it nursing a hangover. Unfortunately, it made his walk across the property incredibly hot. He pulled off his leather jacket, but he would put it back on once in sight of the house. James had always loved to tease him about wearing it in the summer, and he would not deny him the chance.

Despite the heat, the walk was pleasant. It helped to clear his head, to focus on being happy for Remus rather than sorry for himself. Besides, there was enough going on around the wedding that Sirius would need a clear head for. He couldn’t spend the next two days half-sloshed. There was far too much at stake.

Sirius put his jacket back on as he reached the house, and walked in through the kitchen door. The kitchen was empty, which Sirius thought odd. Usually Picksie would have cooked something up by now. He checked his wristwatch to confirm that it was indeed after dinner time. His own stomach growled, and he realised that he hadn’t put anything in it since the heavy, greasy plate of sausage and potatoes he’d had around noon to quell the nausea left by his drinking binge.

He had just opened a cabinet to scrounge for a snack when Lily appeared in the doorway, wand drawn.

Sirius was not ready for a conversation with Lily today. They’d been at each other’s throats more often than not since Dumbledore’s passing. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; the two of them had each received the nail in the coffin for one of their deepest friendships at the same time. Her feelings for Snape were probably more complex than his feelings for Remus, even. At least he had a name for his feelings for Remus. He couldn’t begin to describe how Lily felt about Snape, and he didn’t know if she could either.

So instead of waiting for her to ask some inane, obscure question only he could answer, one he would inevitably respond to inappropriately, Sirius decided to avoid the whole interaction and shifted into a dog.

She put her wand away and rolled her eyes. “Enjoy your bender?”

He barked.

“You reek of booze. Get some water and sit.”

He sat on the floor, a perfectly behaved Irish Wolfhound, and a poorly behaved friend. 

Lily drew her mouth into a tight line and sat down stiffly at the kitchen table. When she spoke again, she had managed to smooth out the harsher tone in her voice.

“Please,” she tried, and gestured to a chair.

Sirius recalled his plan to be better at good ideas, and shifted back into himself. He sat across from her at the kitchen table, and did his best to look like a mature adult rather than a scolded child.

Lily flicked her wand and slid a full glass of water his way. She drummed her fingers against the table, and Sirius braced himself for an apology for her behaviour these last four weeks. He even started scripting his own apology.

But Lily did not apologise. Instead, she finally said, “Mellie passed away this morning.”

All the fight in Sirius vanished in a moment and was replaced by guilt. Lily bit down on the inside of her cheek reached her hand out to his. 

He and Lily had always been equally terrible at hiding their feelings. 

“It’s not your fault for not being here,” she said. “James knows it, and I know it. You’re allowed to grieve what you’re losing, too.”

Her tenderness did not help. He drank the water, wishing it were something stronger, and wondered if growing old really was just one set of bad news after another.

With a great deal of effort, Sirius reached past his own emotions of grief, guilt, and anger in search of something kinder. “How’s Picksie?” he asked.

Lily bit down on her lower lip. “Er — she and James are… well, they’re not fighting, exactly. It’s more of a passive-aggressive thing.”

“What?”

“Picksie thinks Mellie should be buried in her favourite part of the garden. James thinks Mellie deserves to be buried in the Potter family plot.”

“In Godric’s Hollow?” Sirius shook his head. “Christ, _James_ , how does he even think we’ll all get out there? And safely?”

“He isn’t thinking,” Lily said, “but he won’t listen to me, and Remus isn’t — well, he won’t be here until tomorrow.”

“You need me to talk him round?”

“Harry’s trying. I don’t know how well it’s going. And since when do you use Muggle exclamations?”

Sirius shrugged. “I thought I would try something new.”

Lily stared at him, and he wondered if she was trying to use Legilimency to see where he’d been. “And how did trying something new go?” she asked carefully.

“He was too new.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Nice Muggle bloke, but definitely too new.”

Lily did not pick up that it was a reference to the boy’s age, and Sirius was glad. He didn’t need Lily scolding him for going out with someone nearly Harry’s age. He’d tell James later, maybe in a few years, when they could all laugh about it safely.

“Which Auror is here?” Sirius asked.

“Robards himself,” Lily said. “He’s had the decency to stay out of the way, at least.”

Sirius frowned. “Head of the Auror Department doesn’t have better things to do? Do you think they suspect?”

Lily shrugged. “He hasn’t said anything about it, not even a hint, and you know how much Robards likes to talk.”

Sirius downed the rest of the water and left the glass in the sink. “Guess we’d better rescue Harry, then?”

“Are you alright? I know you knew Mellie as a boy —”

“I’ll be okay.” Sirius had been fond of Mellie, though it had taken him a while to grow accustomed to a house-elf that didn’t hate him even when she complained. 

He still remembered the very first night he had stayed at the Potters’ at the age of twelve, and he’d overheard her grumbling about boys being allowed to stay out past reasonable bedtimes. Though it had bothered Sirius, James had laughed it off. Eventually, as the years had passed and his summer stays with the Potters had grown longer, Sirius had learned that Mellie’s complaints were just one of the many ways she showed she cared. 

“I mean, I miss her, but we’ve known this has been coming… Besides, I think James needs us most.”

Lily nodded. 

For James, it must be like losing his parents all over again.

They made their way into the sitting room, and Sirius was surprised to see James unrolling a large piece of parchment onto the low table. Harry and Picksie sat opposite him, and Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Department, had squeezed his very full figure into one of the armchairs by the empty fireplace, clearly giving the family space, but maintaining his duty to the Ministry. 

Harry used a couple of well-placed books to keep the parchment flat as he, James, and Picksie all bowed their heads over it. For a moment, Sirius thought it was the Marauders’ Map, but quickly realised that he was not looking at the floorplan of Hogwarts at all; it was a map of Styncon Garden.

James looked up at him and gave him a weak smile. “Hey — did Lily —?”

Sirius slid into the seat beside his best friend and wrapped his arm around James’ shoulder. “I’m all caught up and sober to boot. What’s this for?”

“Harry’s brokered a compromise,” James said, as Lily sat on the other side of him and laced their fingers together. “We’re giving Picksie her own plot of land and the space to establish her own family cemetery.”

Sirius arched an eyebrow and looked at Harry. “Can… house-elves own property?”

“Then what do you suggest?” James said. “I can’t bury Mellie in the garden like the family cat —”

“Alright, alright.” Sirius backed down quickly; it was so rarely James who snapped at him. “I think it’s a great idea, I just didn’t know if it was possible.”

“It’s brilliant,” Lily said, and smiled at Harry. “If the Ministry wants to make a fuss, let them.”

Robards snorted from his chair, but said nothing. None of the Potters spared him a glance.

Picksie sniffled loudly and wiped her large purple eyes with a handkerchief. “Misters Harry and James is too kind to Picksie and Mama…”

“It’s only decent,” Harry said. “What about by the lake? Didn’t Mellie like that story about my great-grandfather hiding all that stuff from his cousin?”

“Mama was always very fond of Mister Henry and Mistress Dorothy.” Picksie sniffled again. “B-but Picksie cannot take the lake from the Potters. Picksie cannot —”

“You’re not taking anything,” James said gently. “You’re part of this family, you always have been, and it’s time we all acted like it properly. We should probably give some of it to Sirius, too.”

“I’ve got enough property to my name,” Sirius said. “Maybe if you’d ever gotten your act together and built that Quidditch practice pitch you spent years going on about —”

“Oh, shove it.”

Sirius smiled. “What about this?” He pointed to a spot on the map labeled, “Fairy Garden.” It sounded like a fitting place for a house-elf to start her own home.

“That used to be where Mum hosted teas,” James said, “and her summer garden parties. It’s recently been converted into Lily’s personal garden.”

“Ah.” Sirius resisted the urge to glance at Robards. “Lily’s personal garden” meant it was where they grew wolfsbane and other dangerous — and illegal — potion ingredients. Not a fitting place for a house-elf to start her own home after all.

“There’s the rose garden on the west side,” Lily suggested. “That would be a lovely place to build a home.”

Picksie blew her unusually small nose in her handkerchief. “Yes, the roses are lovely.”

James frowned. “Picksie, if you have an idea, tell us. You’re not being selfish.”

Picksie wrung her handkerchief in her hands and looked nervously between James and the map laid out on the table. “Mama was always liking the willow tree.” She pointed to space on the north side of the map. “Could —” She paused to sniffle again. “Could Picksie make a home by the willow tree?”

“Of course you can,” James said.

Picksie could have Apparated them all to the willow tree, but James wanted to walk. Sirius didn’t blame him. Sirius thought that if Robards hadn’t been there, he would have walked down to the tree as Padfoot. It would have been easier to sort through all his feelings as a dog.

It had been a long time since Sirius had attended two funerals in such a short window. There had been that terrible week when Dorcas Meadows, Benjy Fenwick, and Hector Jones had all gone missing or turned up dead at once, and that had hurt, to lose good friends so suddenly, but it wasn’t this.

The pain of losing Dumbledore was compounded with so many things for Sirius. Everyone, of course, knew that Dumbledore’s death was a huge loss for the Wizarding world at large, and a win for the Death Eaters. That came with fear and grief. Then those in the Order had lost Snape as well. That came with anger and grief. And for Sirius, he had lost Remus that night, too. Not for good, and not completely, but it was a loss nonetheless.

To come home after wrestling with Remus’ wedding announcement only to lose Mellie was just one more drop in a bucket already overwhelmed with sorrow. He wondered if it was possible to become numb to losing people.

At least she had gone peacefully. At least she had been with people who had cared about her. At least she had been with her family.

Lily hastily packed a picnic before they left. She carried the basket in one hand and held onto Picksie’s hand with the other. James carried Mellie, wrapped in a thick blanket, and Robards maintained a respectful distance of a few feet back, wand drawn and eyes alert. Harry fell into step beside Sirius.

“Are you alright?”

Sirius looked at Harry in surprise. He opened his mouth to say he was fine, but the lie died in his throat. “In what way?” he finally managed.

Harry shrugged. “You practically lived here even before you ran away from home, right? Mellie’s important to you, too.” He paused and ran a hand through his hair. He was the spitting image of James, right down to the worry line that creased his forehead. “And you disappeared once Mum and Dad started making wedding plans…”

Sirius stuffed his hands into his pockets. Though his grief for Mellie was perhaps the easier line of conversation, he asked, “What did they decide on?”

“They’ll have it in the garden just outside the kitchen. Dad fought for the rose garden, but Mum said the heat’s too much there in the evening.”

“She’s right,” Sirius agreed. “There’ll be shade on the back side of the house at least.”

Harry nodded. “Mum and Dad are in charge of decorating, Picksie said she’d make the cake, the Weasleys are bringing food and seating, and Moody’s officiating.”

He snorted. “I’m sure the photos will come out wonderfully with Mad-Eye standing behind them at the altar.”

“Dad wants you to make sure Remus is ready.”

Sirius pressed his lips together. It was certainly the thing he was most suited for. He remembered the morning before James’ wedding, when he, Remus, and Peter had wrestled with hangovers and a ridiculous number of buttons and laces to get James into his dress robes. That had been as stressful but full of laughter as any of their shenanigans had been.

Getting Remus ready meant they would have time alone together. They would have to talk properly, which they hadn’t done since Christmas. That was Sirius’ fault, more than anything else.

Guilt started to nibble at Sirius’ heartache. He had pushed Remus away just as much as Remus had pushed him. Was it his fault that after Dumbledore’s death, Remus had run to Tonks instead? If Tonks had not been a question, would Remus have come to Sirius in his grief?

And even if he had, would Sirius have really let anything change between them?

Sirius let out a slow breath. “I think I can manage getting Remus ready. But I’m also going to be in charge of music. I don’t trust anyone else with that, especially not Tonks or you.”

Harry did not smile. His mother’s stubbornness and compassion was painfully obvious in that measured gaze. Against Sirius’ better judgement, it riled his temper. He felt heat prickle on the back of his neck and his hands tightened inside his jacket.

Sirius couldn’t explain why compassion and affection so often felt like a threat, no more than he could resist lashing out at Harry as he had against Lily all summer.

“What do you want me to say?” he snapped. “That I’m terribly unhappy and I wish the wedding wasn’t happening at all?”

Harry, unlike Lily, did not rise to the bait. His voice was cool and even as he said, “No one else disappeared for an entire day and came back smelling like The Hog’s Head.”

“That place smells like a goat’s ass,” Sirius countered. “I don’t smell like a bloody goat.”

Harry, it seemed, had learned his parents’ patience, too, and said nothing.

“Fine,” Sirius muttered. “I’m not happy. At least — some of the time I’m not happy. Sometimes I’m actually really happy. Tonks is family, and Remus is pack, and I want them to be happy. But sometimes… sometimes I think I might drown under the weight of how much I miss him. It comes and goes.”

Harry finally pulled his gaze away from Sirius and looked at the willow tree on the horizon. He frowned, thoughtfully, and ran a hand through his hair again. “Like grief,” he finally offered.

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded. “It’s a bit like grief.”

When they reached the willow tree, James and Sirius dug out a small space beneath the tree for Mellie to rest in while Picksie ran her fingers along the bark of the tree and carved Mellie’s name into it. Robards maintained a respectful distance, outside the willow tree’s low-hanging branches. Sirius thought perhaps they were lucky it was Robards on watch today. They could have had Longfellow, who probably would have tried to make them all a pie to be helpful, not realising that they would prefer to have space. 

Harry helped Lily set out a hastily packed picnic. Sirius stomach rumbled as she unpacked sandwiches and it was all he could do not to run over and snatch one out of her hands. Instead, he waited while James set Mellie into the ground. The goodbyes were short, but sweet, and all of them worked together to fill the ground back in.

“I wish Remus was here,” James said, as he cleaned his hands and sat down on the picnic blanket beside Lily.

Lily took his hand and kissed the back of it. “I know. I wish we didn’t feel like we had to rush this.”

“Mama would be happy,” Picksie sobbed. “to know there’s something worth celebrating tomorrow.”

“No she wouldn’t,” Sirius said. “She’d be annoyed and tell us the food and decor were all wrong, and get mad when we wouldn’t let her change it. And she’d be furious when tomorrow night —”

Lily elbowed him and cast a meaningful eye at Robards, outside the low hanging branches of the willow tree.

“Oh, what, like he’s got a pair of Extendable Ears tucked in that thick waistband of his?” Sirius snorted. 

It was a solemn but pleasant picnic. James and Sirius swapped different stories about Mellie, everything from her patching up some of James’ worst Quidditch injuries to berating Sirius for leaving muddy pawprints in the kitchen. Picksie contributed some, but mostly she was quiet. She sat by James, holding a sandwich in her hands, though she never took a bite of it. Sirius wondered if she had eaten at all today. He didn’t blame her if she hadn’t.

Grief was not a new feeling for Sirius. He had grieved the deaths of friends, had grieved betrayals of friends, and had even grieved the loss of things he had never truly known, like what it was like to have a family who loved him. It wasn’t until he had met Euphemia and Fleamont that he had even understood that it was possible to have parents who cared, and he had spent years reevaluating what defined a family. His conclusion was that family was made of people who supported you and cared about you, even when you made monumental mistakes. 

The Potters, Picksie, and Mellie had given him a home when he had none. James and Remus had stayed by him, even when he had betrayed Remus’ greatest secret to Snape. His Uncle Alphard had given him what he needed to strike out on his own, even when Sirius had already abandoned his family. Then Andromeda and Tonks had stayed by him, even when they had nothing to support him with. Lily had fought with him more than anyone in his life, even his mother, but he knew she would never leave him. She would never banish him from her life, no matter how much he frustrated her.

And when Harry had come along, Sirius was more than happy to add such a small, wonderful child to his family. 

Regulus was a more complicated issue, but even as difficult as it had been to have him back, Sirius was glad of it. It was like reattaching a limb he had forgotten was lost.

Remus and Tonks’ wedding was a new monster of grief. Sirius didn’t want to feel abandoned — as he had pointed out to Harry, Tonks was family and Remus was pack. Nothing was changing, but it felt like everything was coming undone. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it, other than antagonise Lily for a distraction. Eventually, though, even that would grow dull, and the ache of losing Remus would remain. There wasn’t anyone he could really talk to about it, either. None of them would quite understand his grief — none of them except maybe Tonks and Remus.

Lily had packed a bottle of Firewhiskey, which James indulged in freely. Sirius abstained, though he would have appreciated something to take off the edges of his grief. He wondered if he would have this kind of self-control tomorrow, at Remus’ wedding. He hoped so. The last thing that they would need tomorrow night was a drunk duelist.

“You know,” James said, taking another sip of Firewhiskey, “I think she did it on purpose.”

Lily frowed. “What?”

“I think she didn’t want to say goodbye to this place again.”

“I think Mister James is right,” Picksie said quietly. “Picksie is not wanting to say goodbye either.”

“This will always be your home,” James said. “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to, but it’s not going to be safe to stay.”

“Picksie will go where the Potters go,” she said. “Picksie will stay with her family, and when the Potters come home, Picksie will come home and build her house.”

“We’ll all help,” Lily said.

Sirius wanted to agree, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he took a sip of his water. The thought in his head was not appropriate to share, not here, not at Mellie’s grave. He had antagonised Lily enough these last few weeks. As much as he craved creating chaos to distract him from his grief, he refrained.

But though he kept his mouth shut, Sirius could not shake the thought that Lily’s words were a rather bold promise to make in the middle of a war when any one of them might die tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget that Sirius, Remus, and Tonks all have major growing of their own to do in this book. Comments and headcanons are always appreciated <3
> 
> I will see you all on November 27 for "The Uninvited Guest"!


	3. The Uninvited Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Tonks have a wedding, not exactly by choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout-out to Fiona Rose (mcgregor_fi on twitter) for their help researching and discussing 90s wedding trends with me during the planning stages of this chapter. They were a wonderful soundboard and resource.
> 
> I've been dreaming of this chapter since Philosopher's Stone, so I hope it lives up to all your expectations. It is also 13,475 words long, so feel free to take your time. Not the longest chapter, by any stretch but longer than usual.

Harry rolled over and was promptly sick over the edge of his bed. His scar burned, and he was drenched in a cold sweat, as if he had just woken from a fever rather than a nightmare. 

He pressed his hands to his head, instinctively hoping that the pressure might relieve some of the throbbing pain. It did not.

Hadn’t Dumbledore told him that Voldemort would not try to enter his mind again? Why was this happening, and why now?

Harry used his wand to Vanish the mess, then stumbled his way down to the kitchen for water. The cool evening breeze helped clear his head.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sick from a nightmare like this — probably not since Ron’s dad had nearly died. At least this time, Harry did not think anyone was in need of rescue, not anymore anyway.

As Harry approached the sink in the dark, he realised that the gentle evening breeze was not coming through the window, but rather the open back door. He tightened his grip on his wand and carefully stepped out into the garden.

The half-moon provided some light, but he didn’t see anything out of place nor any movement in the shadows. He wondered if an open back door was worth waking his parents for, or if he should run and get Robards. He didn’t think so, but in conjunction with his nightmare, perhaps…

Then he saw a stag approaching the house, moonlight glinting off of its antlers, and Harry relaxed.

Prongs approached slowly. Harry did not see his father change form often, unlike Sirius. Something about a full-grown stag galloping around the house did not have the same charm that an Irish Wolfhound did. Sirius had once joked that Prongs didn’t do well on the wood floors, and James had thrown a cushion at him. 

Here, on the soft earth of the garden, Prongs seemed perfectly steady. Even though Harry stood at the top of the steps leading down into the garden, the stag still towered over him. He stood nearly eight feet high, not counting the heavy antlers that crowned his head. Harry met his father’s eyes, where the white fur grew in a perfect circular pattern, much like James’ glasses. One eye was missing, but the other looked Harry over as Prongs sniffed Harry’s hand. Then he nosed Harry playfully, and Harry tightened his hand in the thick fur around Prongs’ neck and pulled him close. He was warm and soft, like Padfoot, and he smelled like the earth.

And then Harry was hugging his father.

“Hope I didn’t scare you,” James said.

“You didn’t,” Harry said. “Just surprised you’d take the risk with Robards still here.”

James broke the hug and reached for one of the buckets leaning against the house. “What’s he going to do? Throw me in Azkaban?” He pulled his watch and eyepatch from beneath the bucket and began to fasten each into place. “I’m sure Scrimgeour would love that.”

Harry still wasn’t sure that being so cavalier with an illegal Animagus form while the Head of the Auror Department sat just a few rooms away was a wise idea, but the prickling in his scar didn’t give him a lot of energy to focus on an argument.

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked.

“I should be asking you that. What are you doing up at,” James checked his wristwatch then fastened it on, “four-thirty in the morning?”

“I came down to get water. What are you doing wandering in the garden at four-thirty in the morning?”

“I walked down to the willow tree and sat for a while, then just wandered, taking it all in.” 

Harry glanced back at the kitchen. Though he knew their voices probably wouldn’t carry to the sitting room where Robards kept vigil, he was afraid to address their impending departure out loud.

James took a seat on the back steps. “Are you headed back to bed? Long day tomorrow.”

Harry considered lying in his bed, mulling over his nightmare in the dark against sitting up with his father and watching the sun rise.

“I think I’m pretty awake.”

James waved his wand and Summoned a kettle. He Refilled and Heated it, then Summoned two mugs for each of them.

“Sure you’re alright?” James asked as he poured a cup for Harry.

“Yeah.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Your pale face says otherwise. I could smell the sick on your breath, too, as Prongs. So I know you’re not well. If you don’t want to talk about what’s wrong, you can say so, but I really hope we’re all past lying to each other.”

Harry stared down at the mug his father had just handed him. He did not want to tell his parents he was having nightmares again, not when his father was clearly grieving Mellie and especially not when they could not go to Dumbledore for guidance.

“I had a nightmare,” Harry finally admitted. He remembered the pain more than anything else — not his own pain, though. He remembered Voldemort’s pain, and he remembered the Sword of Godric Gryffindor. This was the other reason he did not want to share his nightmare with his parents: he was fairly certain it centered around Horcruxes. What he didn’t know was whether or not Voldemort had successfully turned the sword into another Horcrux. The pain and the anger from the dream seemed to suggest something had gone wrong. Harry remembered what Sirius and Malfoy had each said about goblin silver — it only took in that which made it stronger. Perhaps a piece of Voldemort’s soul just wasn’t compatible with goblin silver, or maybe the basilisk venom imbued in the blade made it a poor host.

But whether it had worked or not, Harry knew for certain that someone was dead from the attempt.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it.” James took off his glasses to clean them on his t-shirt, and Harry wondered if he would always wear glasses, even though he no longer needed both lenses. “I have nightmares every night it seems. Your mum does, too.”

“She told me that once. Didn’t make me feel much better then, either,” Harry said, and James laughed.

“Yeah, alright. Sorry.” James looked down at his hands. His tea sat on the step beside him, untouched. “Does your scar hurt?”

Harry hesitated. “A bit. Dumbledore said it wouldn’t do that anymore…”

“Seems like Dumbledore got a few things wrong.” James sighed. “Has it been happening a lot lately?”

“No, just tonight. I think… I think Voldemort just got really angry. I think something didn’t work out like he thought it should. And I think someone else is dead.”

James twisted the wedding band around his finger. “Anyone we know?”

“I didn’t see who, I just…” Harry squeezed his eyes closed, trying to remember and forget all at once. “I think the snake was eating them.”

“I’m sorry — you shouldn’t be seeing that.”

“I can’t help it —”

“I just mean you deserve better. None of this was ever supposed to happen.” James leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Will you tell your mum and I if your scar hurts? I don’t know if we can really help, but…”

“Sure,” he said.

James ran his hand through his hair. “Are you packed?”

“Everything but my dress robes. Do I really have to wear them tomorrow?”

“Andromeda is insisting.”

“Do you know who’s going to be there?” Harry did not mean which of their friends would attend Remus and Tonks’ small wedding. That part had been decided by the Order.

James glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the sitting room. “You would think it’d be common decency to give us our own bodyguard schedule. I just hope it’s no one in the Order. We don’t need tomorrow to be more complicated.”

Harry didn’t know what the plan to slip the Ministry was exactly. It was hard to talk about in the house, with an Auror always around, and the Ministry seemed to know which Aurors were in the Order, because it was never any of the Potters’ friends on duty. But Harry did know that whoever was on duty when the Potters left was going to have a very difficult time explaining to the Ministry how badly they had messed up.

Harry also knew that this wedding hadn’t been Remus and Tonks’ choice — not entirely. 

Remus and Tonks had arrived at the house just two days ago, and Remus had asked James to be a witness when he and Tonks eloped that night. Harry had not heard the entire conversation, because James, Lily, and Sirius had taken Tonks and Remus into the study, faces almost murderous. Harry had pulled Savage into a game of chess, but the focus on the game had been minimal on both sides. The more interesting match had been in the closed off study.

Though the discussion had been muffled behind the door, Harry and Savage heard one clear outburst from Sirius: “And you were planning to, what, just tell Ted and Andromeda after the fact?”

Harry did not envy the position Remus and Tonks had been in, but he also was very much on the side of his parents. If Remus and Tonks had decided to get married, Harry wanted to be there, war or not.

When they had emerged from the study, James had announced that they would be hosting the wedding out in the garden in just two days, Lily had kissed Harry’s cheek and whispered that he needed to be packed to leave before the wedding, and Sirius had disappeared for the rest of the day.

Packing to leave had been a difficult task for Harry. It was hard to know what he would need for the coming year, and he couldn’t really talk his plan out with his parents. 

Lily had, over lunch a couple of weeks ago, made a biting remark that Harry was being childish by keeping Dumbledore’s request from them, that he was only doing this because they had kept the prophecy a secret. Harry had snapped back that if she thought he was being childish, it was only because she wasn’t ready to accept he was nearly an adult. James had interrupted and asked Harry to help him in the garden. 

“She didn’t mean it,” James had said as he had handed Harry a trowel and hefted a bag of Herbert’s Herb Helper over his shoulder. “She’s hurt — we both are — but she didn’t mean it the way she said it. Sirius just riled her up today. You know how they both get when they’re stressed.”

Harry had understood, but he had still been angry. There was no reason for Lily to take her temper out on him, and there was no reason for Sirius to take his temper out on Lily. Harry had grabbed the dragonhide gloves and followed his father out to the small flower garden that Harry had only recently been allowed to work in.

The area was marked by beautiful iron-wrought gates, twisted into the shapes of vines and flowers. There were still tables and chairs, reminiscent of garden parties that had once been held out here, but Harry knew that this space had sat empty for the last decade, ever since his parents had added wolfsbane alongside the wisteria.

“Your mother and I are worried about you, and we want to help you however we can.” James had punctuated this statement with a loud thud as he dropped the bag of fertiliser onto a table.

Harry had cut the bag open with his wand. “It just feels like you both don’t trust me,” he had snapped.

James, unlike Lily, had not risen to meet Harry’s temper. He had stayed quiet as he had pulled on his gloves and knelt down beside the wolfsbane. He had waited until Harry was working beside him to speak again.

“We know you don’t want to finish at Hogwarts this year — and I think we agree, considering… everything. But we can’t understand why Dumbledore would ask you to keep a secret from us. You aren’t alone — you’ve never been alone. We’re here to help.”

Harry had kept his eyes on the flowers for two reasons. The first was that an accidental brush of his skin against the wolfsbane could leave him very ill for the rest of the day, and the second was that he was afraid of the guilt that would fill him if he looked at his father.

Here, on the back porch with his father in the greying dawn, it was tempting to spill all his fears. It would feel good to talk to someone about his plan — or lack of a plan. He wanted advice on Horcruxes, ideas on where to start looking for them, and suggestions for destroying the diadem.

But Harry bit down on his tongue and said nothing. He couldn’t tell them, and it wasn’t just because of Dumbledore; it was because of the prophecy.

Harry understood now just what that weight of being “The Chosen One” meant. Cedric may have pointed out that the prophecy had never said that the fight against Voldemort had to be a lonely one, but Harry knew, deep in his gut, he could not involve his parents in this fight.

James and Lily — and Remus and Sirius — had helped him, over and over again. They had dueled Voldemort more often than he had, and if the opportunity arose, they would choose to die before they let Harry risk his own life. They had already placed themselves between Harry and Voldemort, years ago, when he was just an infant, and he knew that they would do so again.

As long as they were alive, Harry’s family would put themselves between him and Voldemort. And if the prophecy was true, that only Harry could defeat Voldemort, then the only chance Harry’s family had of surviving this war was if Harry finished it on his own.

He imagined that when he did finally tell them he had to finish this without them, he might get a pretty good idea of how Remus and Tonks had felt announcing plans to elope.

“You know,” James’ low voice pulled Harry back into the present, “Remus, Sirius, Peter and I used to sit out here during the summer. Sometimes we stayed up all night, just sitting and talking.” He sat up straighter and stretched. “Don’t remember it hurting my back nearly so badly, though.”

Harry knew it was difficult for his parents to leave home to go into hiding a second time. It was no wonder James was thinking about Peter. 

“What was Peter like?” Harry asked.

James rubbed his jaw and kept his gaze on the graying sky. “Guess your mum and I don’t talk about him much, do we?”

“I could probably count on my fingers how many times you’ve said his name.”

James stared at the dark horizon as if he might see Peter Pettigrew standing there. His hands were steady on his mug, none of the lazy drumming Harry was so used to seeing when his father was pensive. Grief, it seemed, stilled James in a way nothing else did.

Finally, James said, “Peter was quiet, like Remus, but loved a good prank as much as Sirius and I. Never took much to Quidditch, but came to all my matches. Quite a few of the practices, too. Never had the reflexes for the sport, but he was a decent duelist. Brilliant chess player, and a creative strategist. Really knew how to think outside the box. Sometimes I think we pressured him to join the Order… He was always the cautious one, more cautious than Remus most of the time. But he was brave when it counted. You, your mum and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

“Voldemort wouldn’t have been there at all if it weren’t for him, though,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t have this scar or anything.”

“Lily and Sirius blame him, but a lot of things went wrong that day. Voldemort’s at fault, surely. But Sirius made the decision to trust Peter and not Remus. We all made the decision not to tell Dumbledore about the switch. Snape told Voldemort the prophecy in the first place. And Peter told Voldemort where we were hiding, but he also chose to protect us even though he knew that it would kill him. I don’t know if it makes him a hero, but I know that I’m grateful for what he did.”

Harry thought of all the guilt he carried over Dumbledore’s death. If he had not gone to the tower, if he had not been convinced that Malfoy had a Horcrux, if he had listened to Cedric and Neville and Dumbledore… 

Blaming Snape had helped, for a while. Blaming Draco had been more difficult, especially knowing that Draco had lowered his wand before the Death Eaters had arrived. But didn’t the fault rest with all of them, in some way? 

“What did he say to you?” James asked.

“What?”

“When you saw Peter in the graveyard… do you remember what he said?”

Harry swallowed hard. The graveyard was not a place he willingly remembered much of. “He called me by name. He knew who I was. He told me I was brave, like you and mum… Then he told me to run, so I did. But he wasn’t — he wasn’t real, you know. Dumbledore said he was just an echo.”

“Sometimes I think that just might be enough.”

Harry remembered the photograph that Moody had shown him and Neville of the Order during the first war. He wondered just how many friends his parents would like the chance to see again. He thought that he wouldn’t mind talking to an echo of Dumbledore, either. Maybe he might go back to Hogwarts, just long enough to talk to Dumbledore’s portrait. He still had so many questions…

“You don’t think Dumbledore would become one of the Hogwarts ghosts?” Harry asked. 

James shook his head. “I don’t think he would choose that, even with You-Know-Who still out there. To pick an eternal existence over a temporary problem… I think the real problem will be waiting to see if You-Know-Who decides to become a ghost.”

Harry did not think that someone whose soul was as divided as Voldemort’s could sustain any existence after death, but he couldn’t explain that to his father. So instead, he asked, “Why do you always call him You-Know-Who?”

James shrugged. “My mum always did. She said it was polite, and she worked very hard to teach me to be polite.”

“Her lessons didn’t take then?” Harry grinned, and it felt good to watch his dad smile, too.

“They took well enough. I’m not Remus by any stretch, but I can be polite when I want to be. You’ve seen me at the Ministry. Besides, I always thought the nickname was kind of funny. Bloke already renames himself something grand like ‘Voldemort’ only to forbid everyone from using it? Always thought it was a bit silly. Don’t know how his followers ever took him seriously.”

Harry laughed, glad to be a part of this family. He wasn’t sure there was anyone else who could joke about Voldemort the way James did, except perhaps Tonks, but she would be family soon enough.

“Harry, I…” The smile on James’ face was gone suddenly. He let out a deep breath. “What you did for Picksie yesterday was incredibly kind. I wish I had thought of it. It’s the sort of thing my mother might have done. I — I’m sorry you didn’t know her, and I want you to know… whatever happens tomorrow and after… Your mum and I love you, and we’ll do everything we can to protect you and help you through this —”

“Dad…” Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat. He thought it might be made up of all his fear, sorrow, and secrets. “I don’t want to talk about this today. Can we just have a wedding? And not worry about Voldemort until it’s over?”

“Sure thing, Snitch. But we will talk about it, okay?” He checked his wristwatch and got to his feet. “Speaking of wedding, there’s a lot of work to be done. Tonks and Andromeda should be here in a couple of hours. I’ve got to turn the study into a bridal suite before they get here.”

“Why are they coming so early?”

“Andromeda insisted. She seems to think it will take most of the day to get Tonks ready, and I seem to remember your mother doing the same thing.”

And just like that, James switched from quiet mourner to excited wedding planner. He cheerfully enlisted Robards in helping him drape the study in white linens and place tasteful floral arrangements on flat surfaces. Then he dragged Robards up to one of the guest rooms-turned-storage-room to find a full-length mirror. The two of them also had a time of it moving a vanity set from upstairs and into the study.

Harry started on breakfast, though he didn’t get any further than counting how many eggs they would need before Picksie appeared and insisted on taking over. She said she needed to do something with her hands, and Harry couldn’t deny her that. She gave him a list of things to get from the garden, but told him to get upstairs and put on proper clothes first. It wouldn’t do for him to be in pyjamas when company arrived. He wondered if she knew just how much she sounded like her mother.

Lily was not asleep much longer; no one could sleep through the noise that James raised moving furniture — no one except Sirius, who did not make an appearance until after Andromeda and Tonks had arrived via Floo, and he happily greeted company in his pyjamas.

While Picksie made certain that Tonks and Andromeda were who they said, Sirius dipped a spoon in the mix of fruit and rum Picksie had soaking. Before the spoon quite reached his lips, there was a white spark in his hand and he dropped the spoon.

“There is toast and fresh fruit, Sirius,” Picksie said, and gestured at the kitchen table. “Picksie is quite certain that James is saying that drinking is off limits today.”

Sirius only grinned at her and held his hands up innocently. “I haven’t got anything to do until after lunch, so put me to work or I’m only going to make trouble.”

Picksie sniffed, in a strikingly similar way to her mother. “Sirius could start by getting dressed.”

Once Sirius was dressed, there was plenty to keep him busy. James filled Sirius’ arms with linens, insisting that all of the furniture needed to be draped for photographs. Harry offered to help, too, but Lily handed him a lengthy list of flowers from the garden that needed picking for centrepieces. 

When Harry returned from the garden Levitating three full boxes of flowers, Picksie was clearing the kitchen table so James could put a white table cloth over it.

“Excellent timing, Harry,” James said. “Your mum’s just set the vases up in the dining room.”

Harry slipped past his father in the kitchen and into the dining room, where Lily was carefully Transfiguring an old, cracked clay flower pot to match four other glass vases on the table. Harry set the boxes down near her feet and waited for her to be done concentrating.

The terracotta changed shape first, reforming with roses and vines in relief, then slowly, the clay began to disappear. It seemed to burn away until there was nothing but a perfectly shaped glass, identical to the others on the table. Lily smiled and put down her wand.

“I’d like to see your father or Sirius do better,” she said proudly. “Now let’s take a look at those flowers.”

Lily sent Harry to see if Tonks wanted a smaller bouquet or a larger, cascading arrangement, and though Harry thought he already knew the answer, he did as his mother asked.

When he knocked on the door to the study, he was surprised to hear Sirius say, “Come in!”

Tonks sat at the vanity while her mother carefully applied makeup to her eyes. Harry didn’t know anything about the stuff, other than his mother occasionally used it, but he’d never seen so many different cases of it in one place before. He had a feeling that these cases did not belong to Tonks.

Sirius was stretched out across a chair that had been draped in white. He grinned at Harry. “Lots of work, isn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t know it by looking at you,” Harry said.

“I told James and Lily —” Tonks started, but her mother shushed her.

“I said hold still,” Andromeda said. “No talking until I’m finished.”

“Mum, I can literally change my face any way I want. I don’t need —”

“Did you want me to poke your eye out? I said hold still. What did you need, Harry?”

“Er — Mum wanted to know how big a bouquet you wanted, Tonks.”

“Oh, I don’t need — Ow! Mum!” Tonks swatted Andromeda’s hand away and looked at Harry. “Tell her it’s alright. I really don’t need one at all —”

“Not even a small one?” Andromeda asked. “You’ll want something for the photographs —”

“No, Mum, I don’t want something for the photographs. I don’t even want photographs, really. With all the trouble that’s already going into this —”

“What about the rings? You’ll want —”

“We don’t even have rings! This wasn’t supposed to —”

Sirius yelped as he leapt off of the chair. “What do you mean you don’t have rings?”

Tonks frowned at him. “There wasn’t exactly a proposal. I sort of asked him how he felt about getting married and he said we should do it. You and James are the ones who decided to make a fuss about it, and dragging Mum in like this. It’s just a bloody piece of paper, and I don’t see how —”

“Have you any idea how furious Regulus would be to hear you say those things?” Sirius put a hand over his heart in mock horror. “He absolutely adores weddings, and I bet he’s right put out that he can’t be here today.”

“Well when Regulus gets married, he can make a grand gala out of it, but it’s my wedding, and I don’t care about rings or a bouquet.”

“Nymphadora!”

“Mum!”

Harry backed up towards the door. “Right then. I’ll tell Mum just a little one and leave you to it then.”

Tonks plopped her elbow onto the vanity and dropped her head into her hand. “Yes, fine. I suppose if I have to walk down an aisle, I might as well hold something. Just promise me there’s no bright red carpet.”

Harry had not seen one yet, but if Lily was Transfiguring vases, there was no telling what else might appear.

A gentle chime floated through the house, and Sirius glanced at the clock and said, “That ought to be the Weasleys with the tables and chairs.”

“Or Hagrid with the thestrals,” Tonks said.

Andromeda frowned. “Thestrals for a wedding? That’s terribly unlucky —”

“They’re not for the wedding! But I suppose they could be. I could ride down the aisle on a thestral.”

“You will not!” Andromeda said. 

Harry did not wait around to see how this played out. Instead, he headed out to the garden, and met Fred and George as they approached the house, Levitating pallets of tables and chairs as they walked.

As Fred waved, the tables he was carrying slipped. Harry waved his wand and caught them before they hit the ground. Together, the three of them worked to turn the garden into a proper wedding venue.

Just as Harry was trying to figure out the maths for the seating arrangement — he did not know how to evenly split fifteen seats across the aisle — Lily came out of the house, carrying one of the centrepieces. She set it on a table and surveyed the boys’ work.

“Do we have tablecloths and chair covers?” she asked the Weasleys.

George scratched his head. “Er — Mum didn’t give us any.”

Fred rubbed his hands together. “I’m sure we could Conjure something.”

“No need,” Lily said. “I’m sure James has something in mind. Harry, go let him know we need linens outside. Fred and George — help me set up the archway.”

Harry headed inside and found James halfway down the stairs, arms burdened with a box labeled “silver cutlery.”

Harry helped him get it into the kitchen and conveyed Lily’s message.

James stuck his head out the kitchen window and looked at the setup in the garden with a frown. “I think there’s one of Grandma Lavinia’s summer table cloths in the attic. I don’t know that I could Duplicate her work, but maybe I could cheat it…” He glanced down at his watch and swore. “Harry, can you find Sirius while I look for it?”

“He’s with Tonks and Andromeda. I don’t want to go back in there. Can’t you do it?”

James sighed. “Fine. I’ll get Sirius, you get up into the attic and find the tablecloth. I don’t know if you remember it. It’s been so long since we had a garden party —”

“I’ll figure it out, Dad. I can find something nice and floral.”

Harry headed up to the attic, and though he did not know exactly where all of his great-great-grandmother’s fabric was, it was not hard to find. There was a clear cut path to the linen storage, since James and Sirius had pulled most of it out already to cover the furniture in the house. It was a neat trick, to blame the wedding, so the Aurors were less likely to suspect they were preparing the house for vacancy.

Harry was no expert on seasonal fashion, but he guessed that the darker colours were for autumn, and dug around for something light. He thought of his mother’s centrepieces and the flowers he had picked for them: iceberg roses, jasmine, tuberose, rhododendron — all of them white. The only colour was in those blue gentians she’d asked for…

Harry grabbed one decorated in blue forget-me-nots that danced along lacey edges and carried it downstairs. He was surprised to see his father and Sirius standing in front of the fireplace arguing, and set the cloth down to see what was wrong.

“Why are you complaining to me?” James sighed. “Complain to Remus.”

“I’m not complaining,” Sirius snapped. “I’m asking for help.”

“We’ve got enough else to do.”

“It’s not that complicated — easier than the map.”

“The map took us years.”

“To work out the charms! This won’t be hard. Just look at it.” Sirius shoved a piece of parchment into James’ hand. “Please? It’s important to me.”

James shook his head, but Sirius was so rarely earnest in this way, it was hard for Harry to imagine that James would deny him.

“You’re a right bastard sometimes,” James grunted.

“I wish I was a bastard,” Sirius smiled. “Instead I’m just a son of a bitch.”

“You’re an hour late son of a bitch. Get out of here. With any luck Ted’s already got him half-ready and you’ll just be an escort.”

But as Sirius turned to use the Floo, it lit with green flame, and out stumbled Proudfoot the Auror.

James smiled pleasantly. “Ah, Proudfoot. How are the kneazles?”

“Shifting their spots daily,” Proudfoot said, but he was distracted as he answered the predetermined nonsense question. He eyed the draped furniture uneasily, and Harry’s stomach tightened.

James, however, seemed unconcerned. “Robards was doing a perimeter check, last I saw. We expected you earlier this morning, actually. He’ll be glad to see you.”

“Sorry.” Proudfoot stared at the tablecloth in Harry’s arms. “I — er — it was a last minute change. I didn’t — I mean — Thicknesse thought I was best suited for the job today.”

“Well you’re in for a treat! Lily’s in the garden, finishing up the decorations. Sirius was just on his way out, so if you don’t mind moving…”

Proudfoot apologised and stepped aside, eyes still roving the house as if it were his first time visiting. Harry had met Proudfoot once already this summer, and the Auror had moved through the house easily then. Most of the Aurors were familiar with the Potters’ estate by now, and the Potters were unfortunately familiar with most of the Aurors. He wondered why Proudfoot looked so uncomfortable today.

As Proudfoot headed out into the garden to relieve Robards, Harry whispered, “Do you think he knows?”

James raised his eyebrows. “I should think that Scrimgeour would have arrived himself if the Ministry was worried. But you’re right. Proudfoot is behaving oddly, isn’t he? Keep an eye on him for me. Sirius has given me a bit of extra work, so have your mum finish the linens, and if she needs me, tell her I’m doing a bit of alchemy in the laundry room.”

“Alchemy?”

“Well, I suppose I’ll be Transfiguring lead to gold, but alchemy sounds cooler, doesn’t it?”

Harry could not imagine what James meant, but he couldn’t ask for clarification. The fireplace roared green again, and this time Ron stumbled out, followed closely by Hermione. Both carried enormous trays of food.

“Harry!” Hermione said. Her wide smile and awkward shifting in stance told Harry she very much wanted to hug him, but it was difficult to do with her arms full of food.

Harry wanted to take the tray from her, but he had his own hands full with the tablecloth. So he led her and Ron into the dining room table. They set aside Lily’s centrepieces to make space, but when Arthur Weasley came through the Floo, too, also bearing trays of food, they hastily cleared breakfast from the kitchen.

Picksie took the time to make sure that Ron, Hermione, and Arthur were not disguised Death Eaters, something Harry felt a bit guilty for not doing, but he also thought the Death Eaters would not have arrived with armfuls of food if they were intent on killing him. 

Once Hermione’s hands were free, and Picksie had confirmed that she was indeed Hermione, she pulled Harry into a hug and kissed his cheek.

“We’ve missed you!” she said. “How have you been?”

“Alright,” Harry said, and hugged Ron — though Ron did not kiss his cheek. “How’s the Burrow?”

Ron grimaced. “I liked it better when Mum didn’t like Fleur. Now it’s all wedding talk all the time. It’s nice to get away for a minute.”

“Yeah, no wedding talk here,” Harry said with a raised eyebrow.

“No wedding talk about _my brother_.”

“Put us to work, Harry,” Hermione said. “How about that tablecloth you’re still holding. Does it go somewhere?”

While Arthur went back to the Burrow for more food, Harry took Ron and Hermione into the garden. Lily took one look at the tablecloth he had brought out and directed him to put it on a small, square table with two seats. Then with a wave of her wand, she Summoned what Harry thought were bedsheets from the house, and set Ron and Hermione on Transfiguring them into tablecloths to match the head table.

“Don’t worry about making the flowers move,” Lily said. “It’s an old trick even I don’t know. But make them match in colour, and I think even Andromeda won’t complain.” She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the garden. 

The chairs had been arranged into rows of four, with an aisle cutting through the middle that led from the kitchen door to a small archway decorated in white roses and jasmine, filling the garden with a pleasant aroma. Proudfoot wandered around the corner of the house, keeping watch with a distracted look on his face, nothing like how alert Robards had been. It was a bit early in the day for someone to have Confunded him, and Harry wondered what the Ministry had been thinking, sending Proudfoot to keep an eye on the wedding.

A chime flitted over the garden at pace with the afternoon breeze, and Harry and Lily both turned towards the orchard.

“That’ll be Hagrid,” she said. “Hopefully Moody’s with him. I’ve got to finish the bouquet. Harry, have your father finish the aisle, and the music —” She muttered a curse under her breath. “Sirius was supposed to put out the record player.”

“I got it, Mum. Dad’s er — busy, with something for Sirius. I can do the records and the aisle.”

Lily frowned. “I thought they finished their best men speech last night after supper. How could they possibly have more trouble to get into?”

“Something about alchemy. Dad wouldn’t say.”

Lily frowned but did not press Harry for more information. “Music, then. Arthur can do the aisle, and Fred and George can set the —” Lily looked at Fred and George, who were tying a series of white balloons over the archway with an unusual amount of caution.

“Should I be worried those balloons might explode?” Lily asked.

“Probably.”

Harry let his mother deal with the Weasley twins, and hurried into the parlour to retrieve the record player. He tucked a handful of records under one arm and with the other, Levitated the record table, grateful he did not have to guide it down any stairs. He had not expected, however, the sitting room fireplace to light up bright green and Cedric Diggory to stumble out.

Harry yelped and dropped the record table. It crashed into ground and Cedric jumped, nearly dropping the camera he was holding.

“Sorry,” Cedric apologised quickly. “Sorry — easy fix, though.” And with a wave of his wand and a muttered, “ _Reparo_ ,” the record table was set right.

“Thanks,” Harry said, and though he was sure that Cedric was Cedric, he asked, “What do a snake, cup, and diadem have in common?”

Cedric’s face turned grim. “I’d like very much to see all three of them destroyed.” He glanced around the sitting room and lowered his voice. “Speaking of, your last letter said you found something before leaving Hogwarts.”

Harry had so much that he wanted to talk with Cedric about, so much that he had been afraid to put into letters, even as protected as their letters were. He wanted to show Cedric the diadem that was hidden in his trunk, and he wanted to tell him about his dream last night, but he knew that now wasn’t the time.

“Later,” he said, and pointed at the door to the study. “Tonks and Andromeda are in there. Fair warning: they can’t seem to agree on anything.”

Cedric wrapped the strap of the camera around his wrist. “I don’t think I’ve used this thing since I was thirteen, but I’ll do my best to capture only the best parts for Andromeda’s sake.”

Harry left Cedric to take pictures of the bride, and he finished getting the record table set up in the garden just as Hagrid finally walked out of the orchard with a wooden crate in his enormous arms. Mad-Eye Moody was a few paces behind him, struggling to keep up with Hagrid’s stride.

Greetings were exchanged and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were given Hagrid’s crate and put in charge of setting drinks out. Hagrid had brought champagne, which, while fitting for a wedding, did not seem particularly fitting for Hagrid. There were three bottles of Firewhiskey, though, which did seem more appropriate.

“You’re the only one underage, Harry,” Ron teased as he and Harry set the bottles out on the table, while Hermione cast a Cooling Charm over the champagne.

“Only for four more days,” Harry shot back. “Besides, my parents wouldn’t care —”

Hermione slapped their hands as they both reached for a bottle of Firewhiskey. “You two are going to want to have all your wits tonight. I wouldn’t dare.”

Ron made a face at Hermione, but did not reach for any more alcohol. They instead helped Fred and George finish setting the tables with glasses and cutlery. Most of these dishes Harry hadn’t seen since his eleventh birthday, which may very well have been the last time his family had hosted a garden party. Each summer since then had somehow seemed busier than the last, and the traditional garden parties had fallen to the wayside.

Though this wedding was not the same by any stretch, had been planned hastily, and had a very different guest list than their usual parties, there was something strangely familiar about hosting a summer event like this. He wondered if, as stressed as his parents were about the day going perfectly, they weren’t also enjoying the chance to throw one last party before they all left the house.

Another chime carried over the garden and into the house, and Harry froze, hand still on a champagne flute he had just set down. He looked around the garden and ran a quick count of the guests.

Arthur was just finishing the aisle. Fred and George were setting cutlery out. Cedric had emerged from the study and was snapping a photo of the table arrangements. Hagrid and Moody stood together at the kitchen door, Ron and Hermione were right beside Harry setting out plates, and he could hear Picksie working in the kitchen.

Harry made eye contact with Lily across the garden, where she was tying the last of the tulle around the chairs. They shared the same thought: If James was working in the house, and Sirius was bringing Remus and Ted by Floo, and Tonks was in the study with Andromeda, then who had just arrived?

“Someone’s here who shouldn’t be,” Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione, as Lily whispered something to her wand, and a silver doe glided into the laundry room. James appeared moments later, wand drawn and a grim look on his face.

The pleasant, busy atmosphere turned cold quickly. Arthur hurried over to Harry, Ron, and Hermione and tried to usher them inside. All three of them drew their wands and refused to leave.

“We’re here to help,” Ron said, “so if there’s trouble —”

“You’re here for a wedding,” Arthur reminded him, and glanced over at Proudfoot, who had at least picked up that something was wrong, “and one of you is still underage. Inside, now. And don’t bother Tonks until we know for sure what’s happening.”

Reluctantly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went into the kitchen, but posted themselves at the window looking out onto the garden.

“Do you think it’s Death Eaters?” Ron asked. None of them had put their wands away. “Do you think they know what we’re up to?”

“It could be the Ministry,” Hermione suggested. 

“Picksie, do you think you could find out what’s happening?” Harry asked.

Picksie wiped her hands on an apron smeared with flour and pink streaks from cake fondant. “Oh, yes, Harry, Picksie will be right back.”

She disappeared with a pop. Harry had just turned back to the window when the fireplace roared to life and Sirius, Remus, and Ted Tonks stepped through. Remus adjusted the cuffs of his jacket and brushed soot from his shoulders. 

Sirius didn’t bother to clean himself up, but he frowned at the three crowded around the window. “What did we miss?”

“Someone’s here,” Harry said, “someone who wasn’t invited.”

“Wait —” Hermione leveled her wand at the three of them. “What was wrong with the grandfather clock in Grimmauld Place?”

“Kept throwing bolts at our head, didn’t it?” Sirius said as he drew his wand. “Remus and James fixed it. Now can we focus on —”

Picksie reappeared with a pop and announced, “Lyall Lupin has arrived.”

Harry was not sure he had ever seen Remus go so pale. Not even after a rough full moon, and not even when he had seen the form of Tonks’ patronus for the first time. He staggered, and Sirius helped him into a chair.

“Alright, son?” Ted asked, placing a careful hand on Remus’ shoulder.

Remus hardly seemed to notice his soon-to-be father-in-law. He looked between Sirius and Picksie as if they were about to tell him it was all a terrible joke. When they didn’t, he licked his lips and asked, “But… why is he here?” His voice was weak, and Harry hurried to get him a glass of water.

“I imagine it has something to do with his son getting married today,” said Sirius. “We didn’t exactly keep the event as private as you’d wanted.”

Remus gave Harry a grateful smile, but when he turned back to Sirius, his face was sour. “No, instead you’re using me and Tonks —”

Remus stopped himself as the kitchen door opened, but it was only James, face grim. “Did Picksie tell you?”

Remus nodded.

“I told him to clear off,” James said. “He said he had to talk to you first, and to Tonks, but I told him that was out of the question. Groom’s not allowed to see the bride before the wedding and all.”

“What is that?” Sirius asked. “Some rubbish Muggle superstition?”

“It worked out for Lily and I alright,” James said defensively.

“Really? I always assumed she stayed for your enormous —”

“Padfoot!”

“— fortune.”

“Enough,” said Remus, “please. I’ll see what he wants. I don’t expect he’ll stay long.” He finished his water and stood. James and Sirius followed him out to the garden.

Harry watched from the doorway as Remus approached an elderly gentleman in worn dress robes. He had a rather large nose, but his wispy white hair and generally thin form made Harry think he might fall over in a stiff breeze. Harry wondered why he had never met Lyall Lupin if the man really was Remus’ father. He had always understood that Remus and Sirius didn’t really have family outside the Potters. Andromeda was an exception, and not really a Black anyway, and Regulus was only a recent addition to the family. Harry was instantly suspicious of this person who had suddenly appeared and shocked Remus enough to make him nearly faint.

Lily walked alongside the petal-strewn path, and when she reached the kitchen, she pressed a bouquet into Harry’s hands. “Can you take this to Tonks and tell her what’s happened?”

Harry glanced down at the bunch of flowers. “Is Remus alright?”

“I think so. And if he isn’t, he has back up. Just ask Tonks if she approves of the bouquet, and where she thinks Mr Lupin should sit.”

“Remus said his dad wasn’t staying.”

Lily’s smile was gentle. “I think Remus isn’t the only one who’s decided to stop running away today. Now will you go and talk to Tonks, please?”

Harry didn’t see why Lily couldn’t be the one to take the bouquet to Tonks and ask about seating arrangements, but he knew better than to make his mother ask a third time. Harry took the bouquet back to the study and knocked on the door.

Once he got the all clear, he pushed the door open and froze. Tonks had finally put her wedding dress on, and she was stunning in a way that caught Harry off guard. The sleeves were entirely white lace, decorated in rose vines that climbed her arms and neck. The lace was interrupted by a sweetheart neckline and a close-fitting dress. Its plainness only made Tonks’ personality louder. Tonks herself was so vibrant, with her bright pink hair and uncontrollable grin, and the simple dress let her be the standout piece in the ensemble, rather than it. She was positively glowing with joy.

“Not bad for two days of work, eh?” Tonks said, twirling for Harry.

“You mean my two days of work,” Andromeda said. “I still think your hair works better with the veil if it’s to your back.” She picked up a plain band with an enormous length of tulle attached.

“Oh, give it a rest!” Tonks snapped. “This is why I wanted to elope, you know. I knew you’d make my wedding all about you —”

“Forgive me for caring about how my daughter looks on her wedding day —”

“I know you’re upset that you didn’t get a wedding, Mum, but this doesn’t mean I get to be your do over.”

Harry suddenly wished he were anywhere else and considered running back to Lily to make her come ask about seating arrangements and bouquets. But it was Andromeda who left. She dropped the veil onto the vanity and pushed past Harry. Tonks sighed and fell into a linen-draped chair.

“Should I —”

“Let her go,” Tonks said. “She’s been sniping at me for little things all day and I can’t apologise for what I said just yet. Dad’ll smooth it all over when he gets here. Sorry you had to see that, though. Is that the bouquet?”

“Oh — yeah.” Harry handed over the cluster of iceberg roses and jasmine, interspersed with lacy white flowers and forget-me-nots, and a bright blue gentian at the center.

“I’m sure Mum would find something wrong with it, but I think it’s perfect.” She set it down on the table. She put her hand to her face and started to rub her eye, but quickly pulled it away. “Shit — Mum spent two hours on my face.” She checked her reflection and grumbled something about, “What was the point in being able to change my face to whatever I want if my mother was just going to paint over it?” as she tried to clean up the smudged makeup.

“Er — my mum also wanted me to ask you about seating stuff,” said Harry.

“Is there a problem?”

“Sort of. Remus’ dad is here.”

Tonks blinked at Harry in the mirror. “I… don’t think I knew he was alive.”

“I didn’t either.”

“Remus never mentioned him when we were talking about family, he just said James and Sirius were it — and you and Lily, of course — but he never said anything about parents. Merlin, what do I do? I’m not ready to meet his dad.”

“You’re marrying him, though.”

“Yes — but — what if he’s awful? What if that’s why Remus didn’t mention him?”

Harry already didn’t have any fondness for Lyall Lupin, but he remembered his mother’s kind smile when she had said Remus wasn’t the only one who was done running. “I don’t know, but if Remus wants him to stay, he can’t be all bad, right?”

“I suppose, but that means he’ll have to sit up front, and that moves everyone around and — oh, Harry, when it’s your turn I cannot recommend eloping enough. This whole thing’s a mess.”

“I’m sorry — it’s my fault you’re doing this —”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that at all!” Tonks abandoned her attempt to fix her makeup and took Harry’s hands. “Remus and I are happy to do this for you and your parents. I know you’ve all done so much for Remus, and I’m sure this will be worth it. It’s certainly made my mum happy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“She and Dad didn’t get a wedding, and she’s the sort who always wanted one, but Dad’s Muggle-born, you know, and, well, you’ve at least met my great-aunt in portrait-form. I hear she wasn’t any better in the flesh.”

Harry had met Walburga Black in both portrait-form and boggart-form. He’d also seen the scorch marks on the Black family tapestry and the inkblots on the Black family tree that should have been Sirius and Andromda’s names. It was no surprise that Andromeda had run away from her family to marry Ted Tonks. 

“But,” said Tonks, “if this is what it takes to smuggle you out from under the Ministry’s nose, then we’re happy to do it. Which Auror is here anyway? Which of my coworkers do I have to avoid eye contact with for the next six months out of fear of laughing in their face?”

“Some bloke called Proudfoot.”

Tonks scowled. “What the bloody hell is Proudfoot doing here?”

“Er — is he that bad?”

“He doesn’t get a seat,” she said. “I don’t care how tired or hungry he is, he doesn’t have a seat at my wedding.”

“Oh — are you —”

There was a knock on the door and Ted Tonks’ muffled voice said, “Dora? Can I come in?”

When Tonks gave him her permission, he pushed the door open and froze, much like Harry had.

“Jesus, Merlin, and Joseph,” he breathed.

Tonks’ anger disappeared and she laughed. “I don’t think that’s how that goes, Dad.”

“Well — you’re quite lovely,” Ted smiled. “Can I hug you or will I wrinkle it?”

“Mum put an Anti-Wrinkle in the dress, but I might smear my face all over your robes.”

“I’ll wait until Diggory’s got all the pictures your Mum needs then.” Ted turned to Harry and said, “Mind if we have a minute alone?”

Harry was happy to give them that.

In the sitting room, Harry passed by Andromeda weeping into Sirius’ shoulder, but Sirius gave Harry a wry smile that indicated it was alright, so Harry went looking for his parents. He found them in the garden, debating where to add a chair for Remus’ dad, and Harry was happy to inform them that Mr Lupin could have the chair that had been set aside for the Auror on duty; Proudfoot did not need a seat.

“I always thought he was alright,” James said, “as far as the Ministry’s lackeys go, anyway.”

“I’m sure Tonks has her reasons,” Lily said. “I’ll put a drink in his hand to smooth the whole thing over.”

As Lily swung by the untouched drinks table, James sighed and slipped something into his waistcoat pocket.

“I suppose Sirius’ project is a bit of a waste then.”

“A waste?”

James opened his other hand to reveal a silver wedding band with a single diamond set into it.It wasn’t especially large, but it was lovely in its simplicity, much like Tonks. “Remus’ dad came to give him his mum’s ring, so they didn’t need rings after all.”

“You made them rings?”

“Sirius’ design. It was a nice gesture of him. I suppose we’ll save them for another time.”

“You could at least give Remus his?”

“They’re more of a set…” James pulled his own wedding band off of his finger and handed it and the diamond ring to Harry. “We’ll sort a band out for Remus another day, when we have time. Can you give them that during the ceremony?”

“What? Why am I doing rings?”

“Who else is going to be the ring-bearer?”

“I don’t know — Ron?”

James shook his head with a small smile. “You don’t have to walk down the aisle or anything. Just hand them to Moody when the ceremony calls for it.”

Harry looked down at the two rings in his hand, then put them in his pocket. “So Mr Lupin is definitely staying?”

James glanced across the garden to where Remus and his father were still talking quietly. “It’s a bit uncomfortable, but Remus seems to be glad he’s here. And Lupin wasn’t scared off by Sirius’ glare, either, so that’s something.”

“Why have I never met him?”

James ran a hand through his hair. “The short of it is that Remus’ dad always blamed himself for what happened to Remus, and seemed to find it easier to avoid his son than deal with his guilt. Sound like anyone we know?”

The kitchen door flew open and Sirius shouted across the garden, “Bride’s ready!” 

There was not exactly a bride’s side and a groom’s side of the aisle, since, apart from parents, the wedding guests weren’t especially partial to one over the other. There also wasn’t much of a procession to be had. Moody took his place in front of the small gathering, and Harry thought he looked rather unhappy for what should be a celebratory occasion. He had also been surprised when, during the hasty wedding planning two nights ago, James had suggested that Moody perform the ceremony. Harry did not think Moody made for a believable officiate of anything.

But if Proudfoot was suspicious of Moody or the strange ensemble of guests — half the Weasley family, a few of Harry’s friends, a half-giant, and a house-elf — he did not show it. 

Remus helped his father into a chair in the front row then watched anxiously as Sirius walked Andromeda to her seat. Andromeda was still weeping, but Harry thought that no longer had anything to do with her fight with Tonks, or Sirius would not have let the wedding begin. 

Harry moved to sit in the second row, but Sirius caught his arm.

“You’ve got the rings, right? You’re in front.”

Harry didn’t know much about wedding etiquette, but he thought it a bit unfair to both him and Sirius that he got stuck sitting next to Lyall Lupin in the front row, and Sirius got moved to the second row, but there was no time to argue. Tonks stood at the kitchen door, holding onto her father’s arm, and everyone got to their feet.

The veil was nearly as long as the dress, but it did not completely hide her face. Her hair was still short and pink. Despite Tonks’ complaints about having a wedding at all, she was grinning as her father walked her down the aisle. 

When Harry looked at Remus, he saw that Remus was stunned, the way both Harry and Ted had been when they had first seen Tonks, and then, very slowly, his face split into a grin matching Tonks’. He looked years younger in a single moment, and Harry could not remember ever seeing Remus look so unabashedly happy.

Harry risked a glance at Sirius. Unsurprisingly, Sirius’ eyes were trained on Remus. Harry was glad that everyone else was looking at Tonks and there was no one to see Sirius’ smile falter as Tonks reached Remus.

But Lily, though her eyes were still on Tonks, reached her hand over to Sirius’ and squeezed. It was a tender gesture that she usually reserved for James or Harry. In fact, Harry could not recall anything like tender affection between Lily and Sirius — especially not lately — but Sirius held onto her hand like he was holding on for dear life.

At the end of the aisle, Ted Tonks lifted the veil and kissed his daughter’s cheek. She was still grinning as she took Remus’ hands. Instinctively, Tonks leaned forward to kiss Remus, too, but James shouted at her to stop, and laughter rippled through the few gathered. Even Sirius smiled and shook his head.

The setting sun cast a golden haze over the garden. Despite the summer heat, a cool, steady breeze blew, gentle enough to flutter Tonks’ veil but not enough to disrupt the ceremony. Andromeda cried through it all, and Lyall Lupin seemed unable to sit still. He fidgeted beside Harry while Moody read the ceremony, and when Tonks and Remus exchanged their vows, he wiped a tear from his cheek.

Moody reached the part about the rings and Harry half-jumped out of his chair. He fumbled as he dug the rings out of his pocket, and he couldn’t help but worry that his delay had ruined the entire thing. No one else, however, seemed concerned. Picksie was seated beside James, sniffling into a handkerchief. In fact, just about everyone had gotten out a handkerchief to catch tears with a few notable exceptions.

Ron was not crying; he was fidgeting almost as much as Mr Lupin, but Harry thought that had more to do with what was coming after the wedding than the wedding itself. Fred was not crying either, but he had gotten out a handkerchief and passed it to George. Proudfoot, too, had dry eyes as he stood in the back, wand drawn, taking a sip from a glass Lily had given him at the start of the wedding. Harry wondered if Proudfoot should be drinking while he was working, but then he thought if Proudfoot wanted to drink, that would make their escape tonight that much easier.

When Moody concluded the ceremony, the Weasley twins’ balloons popped, releasing a shower of gold sparkles and a burst of doves. Someone cheered, and Remus and Tonks exchanged their first kiss as a married couple.

At least, Harry was fairly certain they were officially married. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that Moody was a true officiate, but no one else seemed to have any reservations, least of all Proudfoot, who let Lily fill his glass again while everyone moved chairs across the garden to the tables set up by the food.

Harry was grateful to finally get a plate of Molly Weasley’s cooking after smelling it for hours. He was not sure he’d had anything to eat since breakfast, and even that had only been a few bites hastily grabbed between running around preparing for the wedding.

He, Ron, and Hermione took a seat at one of the tables, and they were joined not long after by Fred, George, and Cedric. 

“Blimey, that Proudfoot bloke looks unhappy,” George said, eyeing the Auror.

“I wonder if Tonks forgot a sixpence,” Hermione said absently.

The boys all stared at her.

“What? Oh, don’t tell me wizards don’t do ‘something old, something new.’”

“You could start with what’s a sixpence,” said Ron.

“It’s from an old poem. ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in her shoe.’ It’s sort of like a knut, and it’s meant to ward away frustrated suitors.”

Harry frowned at Hermione. “Ridiculous Muggle superstitions aside, you really think Proudfoot is jealous?”

“Look at him. It’s obvious. He can’t take his eyes off of Tonks — do we still call her Tonks?”

“If that’s what she wants,” Cedric said. “To be fair to Proudfoot, Tonks is exceptionally beautiful and the centre of the event.”

“The only thing he’s frowned at harder than their kiss is his empty goblet,” Fred said. “He looks like George did when I took Angelina to the Yule Ball.”

George threw a spoon at Fred, catching him on the shoulder. “He looks the way you’re going to look next week when every time you talk to one of our new French veela cousins your breath smells like dragon dung.”

“Would you really sabotage me that way? Your own brother?” Fred batted his eyelashes and the table laughed.

As the sun set, music and laughter filled the garden in equal measure. Even Sirius, Harry was glad to see, was laughing and joking with Hagrid and Picksie. When Andromeda announced it was time to cut the cake, Cedric got to his feet.

“That’s my cue.” He picked up his camera and followed Tonks and Remus to the cake.

“Glad I didn’t get that job,” said Ron.

“I think we’re lucky Cedric remembered he had a camera,” said Hermione. “Mr Weasley was convinced that Mrs Tonks was going to hire a photographer if she couldn’t find someone in the Order.”

“Dad offered to use a Muggle camera,” George said, “but she wasn’t too happy with that idea either.”

“Moody was furious enough that she wanted a photographer at all,” said Fred. “Said we didn’t need something the Ministry could get a hold of.” He glanced at Proudfoot, who was helping himself to his third or possibly fourth drink. “Surprised they were content to let us get off with just one Auror, to be honest.”

“Cedric and Tonks are here,” Hermione pointed out. “They technically work for the Auror Department. Maybe Scrimgeour trusts them not to risk their jobs.”

“Tonks is risking a lot more than her job by marrying Lupin,” Ron said with a snort. When Harry and Hermione frowned at him, he quickly added, “I’m not saying they shouldn’t have or there’s anything wrong with it — just that it might not be a legal wedding.”

Before Harry could craft a snide remark about the Ministry, Tonks took the bite of cake she was meant to lovingly feed her new husband and instead smashed it into his nose. Everyone laughed — except Andromeda and Proudfoot. Sirius laughed so hard that he fell out of his chair and onto the grass. Judging by Cedric’s grin, the moment was forever immortalised on film, and Harry was glad that even if Moody thought the camera was unwise, they would have a record of a day filled with so much laughter. He had a feeling they were all going to need it in the coming months.

The toasts were next. As she poured the champagne, Lily insisted that Harry have no more than one glass, and advised everyone else at the table the same. 

Ted Tonks spoke briefly; he thanked the Potters for hosting them on such short notice and thanked Tonks for putting up with her mother so spectacularly, which got a few more laughs from the crowd, then said, “And Remus,” he tipped his glass, “Andromeda and I are proud to call you family. I had something written up about you becoming a Tonks, but I was informed that the Potters had laid first claim.”

There was a ripple of laughter among the guests. Sirius and James both hollered, and Lyall Lupin shifted uncomfortably in his seat beside Andromeda.

“Dora, Remus,” Ted continued once Sirius and James had quieted, “I know this isn’t the day you wanted, but I could not think of a better group to celebrate with. Each of us knows you in a different way, and each of us knows what it means to be an outcast. It would be a disservice to the both of you to pretend today was an easy decision, but it should have been easy. Dora, I haven’t seen you smile this way in years, and your mother and I are both very happy for you. To your continued health and happiness.”

The small crowd repeated the toast and drank. Harry considered what Ted had said about being outcasts. He thought about how two of the people present had been forced to leave their families to find their happiness. He thought about how three of the guests were Muggle-born, and what it must be like for Ted and Andromeda to watch their daughter choose to marry someone with Remus’ condition.

Remus stood, but looked unsure and anxious once more. The scrap of parchment in his hand trembled like a leaf. Tonks stood, and closed her hands around his. She, too, looked like it was hard for her to follow her father’s speech, but she said, “Well,” she cleared her throat and dabbed at the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, “Dad, I thought you said your toast would be funny, so Remus and I put together a real sappy tear-jerker, but you’ve gone and ruined it.” She grinned, and the company laughed. “You’re right, this wasn’t the wedding we wanted, but —” She took in a deep breath and took the speech from Remus’ hands. Instead of reading it, she crumpled it up in her fist. “James, Lily, and Sirius — I don’t know how to thank you, because you did everything you could to give us the wedding we deserved. You made sure we had friends and family with us. You opened your home and by Merlin, the flowers — everything was beautiful. And Fred and George, we have you to thank for that, too. The doves were a nice touch. Arthur, you’ll have to pass our gratitude along to Molly for the food, and Hagrid, you always have the best drinks for a party, because that’s what today always should have been for us — a party. And we have all of our friends to thank for that. Thank you for reminding us that today is meant to be a celebration. To more days like today,” she said, and smiled, but Harry could see tears running down her cheeks as they repeated the toast.

“I think Dora said it best,” Remus said. He looked down and twisted the ring on his finger. Then he paused and looked at James. “We have incredible friends, who give freely.” And he looked at Sirius. “And friends who do not hesitate to remind us of what we deserve. To our friends, all of you.”

The couple drank, along with the guests, and sat down. Next, Sirius and James both stood, and made a show of pretending like they were ceding the floor to the other, a terrible back and forth, which had Andromeda rolling her eyes and Hagrid roaring with laughter. But while James and Sirius had their joke, Lyall Lupin had already gotten to his feet.

“If I remember anything about you two,” Lyall Lupin said to James and Sirius, and coughed into a handkerchief, “you’re a terrible act to follow, so I’d just like a moment, if you don’t mind.”

James and Sirius both looked to Remus for approval. When Remus nodded, they reluctantly took their seats. Sirius folded his arms over his chest and sulked like a hippogriff who’d lost a crest feather.

Lupin cleared his throat and said, “When I met Hope — my wife — I didn’t care much that she wasn’t a witch. Several well-meaning friends warned me that my children might not be magical, and I didn’t care much about that either. I loved Hope, and I knew I would love the family we had together, whatever it might be.” The glass in his hand trembled, so he set it down and steadied himself against the table. “And that was always true. It is still true. I came here today expecting a cold welcome, and to hand off what was left of the best part of our family, but instead I have found that the best part of our family was never gone.” He paused, eyes on Remus and Tonks, and then James and Sirius. “Thank you,” he said abruptly, and sat down.

“To family,” James said, and got to his feet.

The toast was echoed, and Sirius stood, too.

“Anyone else want to interrupt us?” Sirius asked with a dangerous grin. “Because he’s right, we’re a tough act to follow, so speak now or forever hold your peace and all that.”

James waited for the laughter to die down before turning to Remus and Tonks. “Now, I believe we gave you two several jokes today that are on that parchment you so lovingly crumpled, but since everyone went and gave earnest speeches, Sirius and I are about to look like asses.”

“You were always going to look like asses!” Lily said.

Sirius cocked his head like a dog who had just heard a quail in the underbrush. “What’s that? A heckler?”

“No — don’t —” Lily protested with a laugh, but James pulled her to her feet. 

“Thank you, darling, for volunteering,” he said. “I know today is about Remus and Tonks, but a toast to my wife, for all the lovely floral arrangements, which is impressive considering she barely scraped an ‘A’ in her Herbology N.E.W.T.”

Lily pushed James and sat back down as their friends laughed.

“Alright,” James said, “a toast to myself because I also did a lot of the decor.”

Harry shook his head, torn between amusement and embarrassment. He almost wished James had the excuse of being drunk, but no one had consumed more than a single drink except for Proudfoot, whom Lily and Arthur kept plying with refills of Firewhiskey.

“Now, Prongs,” Sirius said, and threw his arm over James’ shoulders, “you can’t go about making everything about you. Today’s about our dear friend Moony and my baby cousin Nymphadora.”

Tonks booed and tossed her napkin at him. Sirius flashed her a grin.

“Ah, you’re absolutely right,” James said, and adjusted his glasses. “A toast to Moony, who will forever be remembered in our hearts as the scrawny eleven-year-old we thought was too good for us, until one quiet Sunday morning when he suggested we slip firecrackers under the Slytherin table.”

“I thought,” said Sirius, “you were always going to remember him as the Prefect who took a couple of hundred points off of you and dared you to win them back in the next Quidditch match.”

“I am still bitter about that,” James said, “and the bleach in my shampoo. But should we move on before Dora starts to think this is all about him?”

“To Dora,” Sirius raised his glass, “who will always be the second person to throw up on my favourite leather jacket, because Moony was the first, after drinking too much at a Quidditch victory celebration.”

Remus buried his face in his hands, and looked like he was regretting every nice thing anyone had said about his friends today.

“But most of all,” James said, “a toast to love. Because it’s the only reason any of us are here. We’re here because we love Remus and Tonks, even though each of them are a handful all on their own.”

“Hear, hear,” Ted and Mad-Eye said at the same time, to another round of laughter.

“And we’re here because they love each other,” Sirius said. “And that love is why they deserve each other. So a toast to love.”

The guests clinked their glasses against one another and tossed the drinks back. Harry finished his and thought he would be fine if he had another, but also knew tonight was not the night to find out his limits.

Sirius turned up the music, and he and James both dragged Lily onto the dance floor. Andromeda, however, forced them back into their seats, reminding everyone that Remus and Tonks got a dance first, and she looked pointedly at Cedric, who hastily set down his champagne glass and picked up his camera.

Remus resisted being pulled out of his chair as much as Lily had, but Harry thought that Remus had never truly been able to resist pressure from James and Sirius, who pushed him out of his seat and into Tonks’ waiting arms. She whispered something to him that turned his ears bright red, and he put his hand on her waist.

“Kiss her!” Fred shouted.

The blush spread across Remus’ face, but he did kiss her, and when they pulled away they were both smiling at each other. Harry suddenly wished Ginny were here with him, but at the same time, he was glad that she wasn’t. It was bad enough that Ron and Hermione were coming with them tonight.

When Remus and Tonks had finished their first dance, James and Sirius once again dragged Lily out of her chair. It wasn’t much of a dance floor, just a stretch of the garden around the record player. Hermione, apparently thrilled that she recognised the song, pulled Ron up to dance with her. Cedric tried to take a seat, but Fred and George each took an arm and propelled him away from the table, reminding Harry very strongly of the way James and Sirius treated Remus and Lily.

Suddenly, Harry found himself alone, and though he wasn’t fond of sitting alone, the options for dance partners were slim at this party. He considered getting Picksie to dance with him, but she looked very happy sitting with Hagrid. He wondered what they were talking about, what Hagrid and Picksie could possibly have in common, but Hagrid seemed to have a way of making friends with anyone.

Harry watched Mr Weasley fill Proudfoot’s drink even as Proudfoot insisted he didn’t need more. Ted and Andromeda joined the small dance party, and Harry was surprised to see Lyall Lupin get to his feet as well. But Mr Lupin did not join in on the dancing. Instead, he headed straight for Harry. It was too late for Harry to pretend he hadn’t noticed and make a quick escape, and it wasn’t like at Dumbledore’s funeral, where he could slip into a large crowd of people and disappear from an unwanted conversation. He had nowhere to go as Lyall Lupin sat down in the chair Hermione had occupied just minutes ago.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to meet,” he said.

“Er — no.” Harry looked for his parents to rescue him, but James and Lily did not seem aware of anyone nor anything else as they danced. Sirius had stolen Tonks from Remus, and Harry did not see Remus at all.

“I suppose introductions are unnecessary.” 

“I suppose so.”

Mr Lupin looked at the glass he had brought with him and refilled it with a tap of his wand. He took a drink and fidgeted with the stem of his glass. It was strange, Harry thought, to see so much of Remus in this man who was so unfamiliar to Harry. It almost made Harry like him, but Harry felt determined not to give into that.

“You look a good deal like James did at your age,” Mr Lupin said, and Harry was annoyed that they were thinking of each other in nearly the same way. “But you seem much more sensible than he was. It seems like he and his friends haven’t changed much at all.”

Harry thought of the memory of Sirius and James bullying Snape while Remus tried to make himself small and unnoticed. He watched Sirius pass Tonks off to her father and pull Andromeda into a dance, while Lily grabbed Remus for a dance and James collapsed into a nearby chair to watch, grin plastered on his face. He thought of the grief he had seen in his father and Sirius just yesterday.

“I don’t know, they seem a bit different to me.”

If Mr Lupin thought it curious that Harry knew enough about who James and Sirius were at sixteen to make that sort of statement, he didn’t show it. Instead, he said, “When Remus told me that his friends had worked out his… condition… I very nearly withdrew him from Hogwarts. I was terrified of his secret being exposed, of the danger he would face from others if they knew what he was. I was surprised, to say the least, when Remus insisted these friends didn’t mind what he was. I could not imagine what those boys might be like, and was sure they were lying or using Remus. But here we are, almost thirty years later. Even with his secret becoming public, they’ve stayed by him. I never would have imagined, in a hundred years, people like that existed. I never would have thought…” He watched Tonks as she pulled herself away from Sirius and stumbled, but Remus caught her and the two laughed. 

“I wasn’t sure I would ever see that smile again after Hope died.” Mr Lupin took another sip of his champagne. “I only came because I thought if he truly was getting married, he should have a piece of her with him, and I wanted to meet the person who had decided to spend her life with him. I thought she must be quite incredible.”

“She is incredible,” Harry said, “but she’s not the only person here who’d spend their entire life with Remus.” Harry saw Sirius take a seat beside James, exhaustion plain on his face, and James threw his arm around Sirius’ shoulders. “Sirius and my dad and my mum all made that commitment, too, just not with an official ceremony or anything.”

Now Mr Lupin stared curiously at Harry. “You’re an interesting young man, Harry. Not at all like I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“The _Daily Prophet_ has not exactly been kind in the way you’ve been depicted these last few years, and I have had no way to know for myself what you were like.”

“I dunno, you could have visited. You obviously knew where we lived.” It was perhaps not a polite response, not the sort of thing his grandmother would approve of, but Harry did not think it was untrue nor unfair. Harry thought of the careful and cold way that Lyall Lupin spoke about Remus’ “condition” and thought it sounded a lot like the way Remus talked about himself. Remus had learned quite a lot from his father, and none of it, at least that Harry had seen, was particularly good. So perhaps it was for the best that Ted and Andromeda approached their table just then, for both Harry and Lyall Lupin’s sake.

Andromeda kissed Harry’s cheek. “Thank you for all your hard work. You put up with Tonks and I spectacularly.”

Harry did his best to smile at her. “Did Cedric get good pictures?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Ted said, holding up a small round tin of film. “But we thought we’d best leave the rest of the party to you young folk.”

“I suppose I should take that as my cue as well,” Lupin said, and pushed himself to his feet with a groan. “Though I think Alastor must be twice as old as I am.”

Andromeda laughed. “Mad-Eye’s said he’ll stay until Proudfoot’s sober. Poor thing doesn’t seem to know his limit.”

Harry watched Proudfoot sway on his feet, then lean against the table to keep from falling over. He still didn’t know what Proudfoot had done to upset Tonks so much, but he hoped that Proudfoot deserved it.

Ted, Andromeda, and Lyall said their good-byes, and Lily and James walked them into the house to Floo home. Harry drummed his fingers on the table nervously. Everyone who remained, except for Proudfoot, was in the Order. Everyone left was part of the plan to get his family out from under the Ministry’s watch. He wondered how much longer the celebrations would go on for.

Not long, apparently. As James and Lily returned from escorting their guests out, Proudfoot promptly collapsed into the grass.

“Well,” James announced to the party, “I think that means it’s time for all of us to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points: Did you find the something new, something old, something borrowed and something blue?
> 
> The Seven Potters will be released December 11!
> 
> Comments and headcanons always appreciated <3


	4. The Seven Potters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potters leave Styncon Garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are coming up on the holidays, so keep an eye on social media for any schedule changes that might show up in the new year. Hope all is well. Happy Hanukkah this week!

Cedric Diggory closed the door to the Potters’ parlour and let out a slow breath. He was nervous about what they were about to do, certainly, but he also knew that he was as prepared as he could be.

He dumped his bundle of clothes onto a chair and unfastened the collar of his dress robes. It really had been a lovely wedding, and he hoped the photos he had taken for Mrs. Tonks would come out alright. He also hoped that this next part wouldn’t ruin the day for Tonks and Remus.

Cedric started to pull his dress robes off but paused when he realised there were quite a few portraits on the walls. He was surprised by how old some of the paintings looked, some perhaps as old as Hogwarts tapestries.

“Er —” he made eye contact with a young woman with a round face and purple, glittering robes, “ — do you mind?”

She laughed. Though her face was rather plain, her laughter was strikingly beautiful. “I suppose we’ll go to the living room. I imagine most of the bedrooms are being used for a similar purpose?”

“Sorry,” Cedric apologised. He wasn’t the only one who would be changing out of his dress robes. Each of the wedding guests would be getting ready for their flight from Styncon Garden.

As soon as the frames were empty, Cedric pulled off his dress robes and changed into a much more comfortable t-shirt and jeans. 

He glanced around the Potters’ parlour, taking in the worn chairs and neat bookshelves. Scattered between the books were trinkets from around the world and photographs like the ones that adorned the Potters’ fireplace mantles. There were even a few wands on display, tucked between a book on Disguise Potions and a photograph of James, Lily, and baby Harry. Cedric squinted at the worn etchings on the golden plate beneath the wands. He couldn’t make out all the names, just an Iolanthe and Hardwin Potter, but some of the dates went back to the 1200s. 

The parlour itself seemed well-used, with worn furniture and stacks of books on tables. The books that had been pulled from the shelf were reference material for dueling spells and Healing magic. While this fact did not surprise Cedric, it was not exactly comforting.

The Diggory family home had just the one room for receiving guests. Cedric, who had only known the Potters to be kind and humble, had been surprised by their home’s grandeur on his first visit. He supposed this home was what came from generations of adding onto a family home; he certainly preferred it to the Blacks’ home in Grimmauld Place, which seemed more like a shrine to a bygone era than a living, growing thing.

Cedric pulled on a red hoodie with a bit of a struggle. It was tight around his shoulders, but that was only temporary. He would fit into it soon enough. 

Finally, Cedric shoved his dress robes into a bag and returned to the living room that the others were gathering in. He was glad to find that he was not the last to get changed. Most of the other guests were still changing out of their dress robes.

Harry was already there, seated on top of his trunk, and James and Arthur stood behind the sofa, where Proudfoot was stretched out, and Picksie pulled a blanket over him. Sirius knelt beside Proudfoot, wand leveled at his head.

“I still think we should wipe his memory,” Sirius said.

“The Ministry will know and be able to undo it,” Arthur warned.

“Great. More work for them.”

“And what do you think the Ministry’s going to do if they can see from the Trace that an Obliviate Charm went off on our property?” asked James. “You might be alright going to Azkaban for jinxing an Auror, but I’m not interested in joining you. I think we should count ourselves lucky we didn’t have to put much work into getting him drunk.”

Cedric, too, was glad it had been easy to get Proudfoot so incapacitated. He had heard that Proudfoot and Tonks had fallen out some time last year, and Thicknesse must have expected Proudfoot to be on his best behaviour while assigned to guard Tonks’ wedding. That plan had clearly backfired.

Before leaving the Ministry that morning, Cedric had received a stern lecture from Rufus Scrimgeour. The Minister for Magic made it clear in no uncertain terms that while he may be attending Tonks’ wedding as a guest, he was still an Auror and he should still behave like he was on duty. Cedric had understood that to mean he was still reporting on the Potters’ and any contact they may have with the Order. So he and Tonks had set their stories straight before the wedding had begun: 

They would tell Robards that they had stayed late celebrating, Proudfoot had passed out, and everyone had parted ways at the end of the festivities. They would tell their superiors that they certainly had not noticed the Potters making any preparations to leave, and what a shock it was to hear that they had disappeared.

The only part of the lie Cedric was still unsure about was how he would tell it to his boyfriend, Christian Thelborne.

A cabinet in the kitchen banged closed, followed by Moody’s prosthetic leg and cane banging against the wooden floor as he followed Lily into the living room. Lily carried a cauldron full of what looked like bubbling mud into the sitting room. She set it on the coffee table and looked over Proudfoot. “I don’t think he’ll die of alcohol poisoning if we leave him like this,” she said, but she didn’t look sure.

“He’ll be fine,” Moody grunted. “Are the newlyweds ready yet?”

“Don’t rush them,” Sirius said loudly. “It’s their first night together.”

“Next time,” Tonks shouted through the door to the study, “you get to wear the dress with two dozen laces up the back and paint your face in ten layers of makeup!”

Sirius laughed; Moody did not.

Harry, who had been sitting quietly on his trunk, suddenly straightened as Ron and Hermione came downstairs, wearing casual clothes and jackets that didn’t quite fit. His eyes narrowed at them, then he looked at Cedric with the same puzzled expression. When Fred and George emerged from James and Lily’s room in similar, ill-fitting clothing, he glared at the cauldron Lily had set on the table.

“No,” Harry said. At his sharp tone, Hedwig squawked irritably in her cage.

Cedric was impressed that Harry had cottoned on so quickly, but he was not surprised that Harry was upset. He would have felt similarly if his friends had decided to impersonate him in order to get Voldemort’s attention.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” asked James.

“You said there’d be a guard, like when we went to Grimmauld Place — not Polyjuice Potion.”

“You don’t have to take any,” said Lily, as she Summoned five goblets from the kitchen.

“Why do they have to be me? Why don’t we all just be you or Ron or Cedric?”

The study door opened, and Tonks appeared, dressed just like the others; Lupin stood behind her, wedding dress draped over his arm.

“But I’ve been practicing!” Tonks said. Her short, pink cut turned into Harry’s dark, messy hair, and her brown eyes became bright green. A lighting-bolt shaped scar split across her forehead. She had transformed into Harry perfectly, except for his specs.

“Pretty good, eh?” she said, and Harry frowned.

“I don’t sound like that. And I’m taller than that.”

“You do and you’re not,” Fred laughed. “Now I agree, I’d rather impersonate Cedric, tall, strong and handsome, just in case it all went wrong, but old Voldy didn’t pick Ced for his arch nemesis, did he?”

“The Death Eaters will be looking for you, lad,” said Mad-Eye, “and if we give them seven of you, splitting them up’s the only chance we got.”

“How do we even know there will be Death Eaters?” said Harry. “There weren’t last time we left like this.”

“We don’t have time for this, Harry,” said James. “We did our best to make it seem like we were moving you just before your birthday, but we can’t trust it all went as planned. Using these decoys was Regulus’ idea, and frankly, it’s brilliant.”

“Not brilliant enough for him to risk being here,” Harry grumbled, though even Harry had to know it wasn’t a very good excuse.

Harry and Cedric knew better than anyone why Regulus couldn’t be there. Regulus Black was not in the Order of the Phoenix — on Dumbledore’s orders. It was only recently that Cedric had realised those orders were because Voldemort could not know that Regulus had had a chance to tell Dumbledore about Horcruxes. It was in their best interest that Voldemort believe Regulus was acting alone in the hunt for Horcruxes, even though Cedric, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville — and to an extent, Ginny — were now involved in this hunt. Cedric could only hope it would all be over before Voldemort figured out just how much they had accomplished.

Cedric knew that Harry had found something at Hogwarts before Dumbledore’s funeral, but they had not had a chance to discuss it in any detail. He hoped that when the Potters were safe at the Burrow, he and Harry would finally have a chance to talk.

“You need my hair for the Polyjuice Potion to work,” Harry said, “and I’m not giving it to you.”

“Oh, please, Harry,” Hermione sighed. “We can easily —”

But it was Picksie who suddenly waved her hand and Harry winced as bits of his hair floated from his head and into the cauldron. He scowled as the thick, brown potion churned and smoked until it had transformed into glistening gold. 

Harry’s scowl vanished suddenly. “Wait —” 

Lily was already using her wand to fill the goblets with the Polyjuice Potion. “We’re past time for waiting, Harry. Hand your father your glasses, and give your trunk and Hedwig to Picksie.”

“Just hold on a moment.” He got up and dug through his trunk, finally retrieving a pair of socks. “I should have enough Felix for everyone who’s got to be me to take a sip, which should last us until we get where we’re going, right?”

“Harry,” James said, “you don’t have to —”

“When else should I use it?”

Lily handed goblets to Ron, Hermione, Cedric, Fred, and George. “It’s a really generous offer, Harry, but I don’t know if it would be safe to mix doses of Felix Felicis and Polyjuice Potion.”

“Then you take it. Everyone who’s not me gets a sip. It’s the only way I’m going along with this plan.”

“I mean, there’s nothing to stop us from tying you to my motorcycle and taking off regardless,” Sirius said, but he took the Potion from Harry. He took a sip and passed the vial to James.

“Merlin, the last thing we need is a more reckless version of James and Sirius,” Lupin sighed, but he, too, took a small sip when James passed him the vial.

Cedric would not have minded a sip of Felix Felicis, but he trusted that Lily knew what she was talking about and downed his goblet of Polyjuice without complaint. It wasn’t as terrible as its ingredients suggested; in fact, Cedric found it rather warm and pleasant, as far as potions went. The feeling that washed over him was similar to being dipped in a tepid bath, not unlike the Disillusionment Charm that Christian had cast over him back on his first assignment in London. The potion seemed to melt over him, and while he did not feel himself get any shorter, his frame seemed to shrink in on itself, and the clothes that had been snug now fit perfectly as his broad shoulders took on Harry’s thinner frame.

“Finally,” Moody grunted as everyone took their given potion. “Everyone get your glasses on.”

James Duplicated Harry’s glasses until everyone had a pair. 

“Tonks,” Moody said, “you’re with me.”

“Like old times, Mad-Eye,” she said, and turned to Lupin. “Kiss for good luck?”

Lupin frowned. “With that face —”

“What if I wanted a kiss for good luck?” Sirius asked, a question that perhaps might not have been voiced without the influence of Felix.

Tonks gave Sirius a kiss on the cheek.

“Harry —”

A pair of Harrys nearby said, “Yes?” at the same time as Harry.

Moody ignored the Weasley twins. “Harry, you’re with Hagrid.”

Harry stood and folded his arms over his chest. “Why can’t I go with Mum or Dad?”

“Because Voldemort will expect you to be with me,” Moody said, “and if he figures out he’s been had by Tonks, he’ll go for your parents next. Most jinxes will bounce off Hagrid, so you should be safest with him —”

“I don’t care.”

“This isn’t the time to argue, Harry,” said Lily.

“If you’d just asked me instead of —”

Moody continued as if Harry hadn’t spoken. “Sirius, you’re giving Hagrid your motorcycle, right? He’s a bit heavy for a broom.”

“Yeah,” Sirius got to his feet. “Did you find me a broom? Mine’s a bit old for this run.”

“You’ll be with Ronald. Arthur, you said you had brooms —”

“Under the tables outside,” said Arthur. “At least, Fred and George were supposed to make sure —”

“Two Cleansweeps and a Comet ready for service,” one of them answered.

“Did you take my Comet?” Ron asked. “You could have asked —”

“And Hagrid?” Moody asked.

“Got two thestrals tied up in th’ grove, just need ter get ‘em.” Hagrid went outside.

“Who’s going with Mum and Dad?” Harry asked.

“Diggory’s with James,” said Moody, “and George with Lily.”

“George can go with Hagrid. I’ll go with Mum.”

“These pairs were decided in order to keep everyone as safe as possible,” James said. “We’ve got to trust that Moody knows what he’s doing.”

Lily stroked Harry’s hair. “I know it isn’t easy, but we need you to do as you’re asked. You’ll be safe with Hagrid, and I’ll be safe with George.”

Harry did not look convinced, but did not protest any further. “Fine, but I want Dad to take my Firebolt then.”

“Sure you don’t want your mum to have it?” George asked as he looked over the Firebolt with a bit of envy in his eyes.

“We’re taking one of Hagrid’s thestrals,” Lily said. “I’ve had quite enough of brooms, personally.”

“Yeah, but have you had enough of a Firebolt?” Fred asked, but Mr. Weasley put his hand on Fred’s shoulder and Fred quickly shut his mouth.

“We’re already behind schedule,” Moody grunted. “Let’s get going.”

The Potters were slowest to head outside. James’ hand lingered on the back of the sofa. Lily adjusted the coasters on the coffee table to make sure they were in a neat stack. Picksie fluffed the pillow on the armchair. Harry glanced around the room as if he were looking for something he had forgotten to pack, but there was nothing else to take, nothing else to be done but say goodbye.

Cedric followed Moody into the garden and let the Potters take a moment alone in the house. There was no knowing what sort of home they would come back to when the war was over and Voldemort was dead. Cedric hoped that whatever spells had been cast to protect the house would last as long as they needed to, but without people living in the house and maintaining the charms, it was a rather empty hope. The Potters had to know that.

Out in the garden, Fred swung his leg over a broom — at least, Cedric assumed it was Fred. Everyone may have looked like Harry, but Cedric knew who each of them was meant to be paired with. Fred looked confident on the broom with his father, while George felt nervously for the thestral that Hagrid had given him.

When Cedric had followed Harry to the Ministry of Magic last year, he had not been able to see the thestral that had taken them there. However, after a year working as an Auror and fighting alongside the Order, he had run into more than his fair share of death. Now, Cedric could see the skeletal frame of the horse-like creature, with tight, scaly skin stretched over bone, and a beak-like snout that nipped at George’s shoulder.

“We could trade?” George suggested to Fred, who only laughed at the idea.

The second thestral went to Hermione and Lupin. Hermione allowed Lupin to help her onto its back before climbing on himself. Lupin moved with a confidence that suggested he could see the creature as well. Two wars must have given Lupin plenty of chances to see death.

Sirius showed Hagrid how to work the motorcycle, while Ron waited, broom in hand. He looked nervous, and Cedric couldn’t blame him. Tonks bounced anxiously on a broom with Mad-Eye, who grumbled about the Potters taking so long.

Cedric fidgeted with his wand. Growing up, he had heard stories of the war against the Death Eaters and Voldemort, but he had never expected that someday he would become a part of it. He wondered what it must have been like for James and Lily, who has always known that Harry would grow up and have to fight. They must have imagined going into hiding again a dozen times. Cedric had only known the prophecy since last summer, when Harry had told him the truth in the orchard not far down the path, but Lily and James had known for Harry’s entire life. Cedric could not imagine carrying that burden.

As Harry, James, and Lily emerged from the house, Hermione asked “Where’s Picksie?” 

“She’s Apparating our trunks and other things to our final destination,” said James, “to help us fly light. She’ll just have to time it right, get everything out when Harry’s far enough away that the Trace won’t pick up on her magic.”

“Sure would have been easier to have waited until you were seventeen,” said Ron. 

“Only if you want to face a dozen Death Eaters and Voldemort himself,” Moody grunted. “With any luck, that false trail worked, and the skies are clear tonight. Everyone ready?”

Lily climbed onto the thestral beside George, Harry reluctantly got into the sidecar of Sirius’ motorcycle with Hagrid astride the bike, and Cedric joined James on the Firebolt.

“Wand at the ready?” James asked.

“Yeah.” Cedric tightened one hand around the broom and the other around his wand. With any luck, he wouldn’t need it.

But despite the assistance of Felix Felicis, luck was scarce these days.

As they shot into the air and broke through the barriers that had shielded Styncon Garden for years, Cedric only had enough time to admire how well the Firebolt handled before they were greeted by a waiting crowd of Death Eaters. There were at least two dozen, cloaked and hooded, surrounding the fourteen fliers. The starry night sky erupted in a clash of curses.

Cedric cast a Shield Charm as quickly as he could over him and James, and he successfully blocked a curse from the left, but he could not make his charm surround them completely. A spark from the opposite direction shot past Cedric’s ear, and might have struck truer if it had not been for James’ quick reflexes. It was not just the Firebolt that handled well; James was an excellent flier.

“How did they know?” Cedric shouted as he threw a curse back at the hooded figure who had nearly hit him. His Stunner struck the figure in the chest, and the Death Eater tumbled from their broom to their death below.

James swerved again and it was all Cedric could do to keep from being thrown. “I certainly didn’t tell them,” he said over his shoulder, and then they dropped into a steep dive, swooping beneath a team of three hooded Death Eaters headed straight for them.

Cedric looked around, trying to get a count on their numbers. They had not even had a chance at escape; some thirty Death Eaters had somehow learned that the Potters were leaving tonight.

Cedric cast another Shield Charm to protect both him and James from a pair of curses as James veered them west, towards Kingsley’s home. He glanced back and watched the other members of the Order disperse through the night sky. One of the thestrals disappeared into a cloud, and another pair on a broom turned south. Everyone had a different destination assigned to them, and they would take Portkeys to the Burrow when it was all said and done. This meant that the Death Eaters, too, were forced to split up and chase them. He wished that he and James could try to help their friends, but this was their best chance at success: divide and conquer.

The four Death Eaters that had split from the pack to chase Cedric and James did not slow their barrage of curses. Cedric cast a Shield Charm, which burst with white light as a curse struck it. Cedric could see no one else from the Order. They were on their own.

His stomach lurched as James spun the Firebolt in a tight corkscrew. Cedric clung to the handle and shot off a wild burst of flame. He got lucky with the shot — he wondered if it was natural luck or if he was benefiting from James’ dose of Felix Felicis — and one of the Death Eaters’ robes caught on fire. The cloaked figure pulled away, hastily beating out the flames. 

“Nice shot!” James said. “Now hang on!”

Cedric had been hanging on, but the warning made him grip the broom tighter. James, after their tight dive, had decided the next best course of action was to fly straight up. Cedric fell backwards. He kept his grip, tight as ever, but there was nothing for his feet to connect with. He was left dangling by the end of the broom, floundering for a two-handed grip without dropping his wand. 

Something hot and sharp cut into Cedric’s ankle. He felt blood soak into his jeans and looked down for the source of the curse. Even though the two Death Eaters steadily climbing after him and James were hooded, Cedric knew exactly who that curse belonged to. It was the same pain he had felt in the Department of Mysteries, when Pyrites had tortured him in order to convince Harry to give up the prophecy.

Before Cedric could fire a return curse, James’ steep ascent turned into another sharp dive. Cedric had a brief moment of weightlessness to right his body and make sure the broom was beneath him, before they shot towards the ground.

Cedric, chilled from the ascent and disoriented from the sudden changes in direction, had difficulty keeping his aim true. His first explosive curse landed beneath the Death Eaters, but his second hit the space between them, knocking them apart and knocking their hoods off as they rolled from the force of the blow.

Cedric has spent hours studying lists of known and suspected Death Eaters during his Auror training this past year. He knew these men on sight.

Pyrites and Travers recovered from the blast and resumed their chase, but luckily the Firebolt was faster. Cedric dared to feel relieved even as he blocked a curse. The gap between them and their pursuers was widening.

His only warning was James’ sudden yell. From a cloud nearby, a hooded figure shot straight towards them. Cedric shouted, “ _Depulso_!” hoping to knock the Death Eater away, but the cloaked figure swerved out of the way easily. As the figure raised their wand, Cedric began casting a Shield Charm, though he knew the charm would mean nothing if the Death Eater chose to use the Killing Curse. 

Despite all the luck they’d had so far, Cedric saw a green spark illuminate the tip of the Death Eater’s wand. His heart stopped and he opened his mouth to yell for James to move out of the way, but he was drowned out by a roar and a deep voice shouting Harry’s name.

From out of a nearby cloud shot Hagrid on Sirius’ bike. Harry was standing in the sidecar, reaching over to the handlebars, and directing the motorcycle right into the Death Eater, who tumbled beneath the vehicle. His curse passed harmlessly over James’ shoulder.

“That’s him!” shouted Pyrities. His voice carried well on the wind. “That’s the real one!” And he and Travers veered away from Cedric and James. Travers headed after Hagrid and Harry, and Pyrites vanished into a cloud.

“Harry, what did you just do?” James shouted.

“Saved your life!” Harry shouted, and fired a Stunning Jinx at Travers, who yelled and swerved off course to avoid being struck. “Didn’t we just put him in Azkaban a month ago?”

“I guess he got out,” Cedric said. He really hated being associated with the Ministry sometimes. There were advantages to working in the Auror Department, but the general incompetence of the Ministry was not one of them. This was something he had complained to Christian about frequently, and even though Christian had recently been appointed Chief Captain of the Hit Wizards, nothing in the Magical Department of Law Enforcement had really changed. Cedric worried that the flaws in the Ministry were much deeper than administrative issues.

Hagrid wrested the handlebars back from Harry and pushed Harry into the sidecar. “Yeh stay there, where yer safe.” Then he veered to the south, and James followed.

“We’re expected at Kingsley’s,” Cedric shouted into James’ ear.

James didn’t answer. He stayed on Harry and Hagrid’s tail.

“James, we can’t —”

“Didn’t you hear Pyrites?” James said. “They know! Harry might as well have painted it over his head in golden sparks with a stunt like that. I’m going to get us close and you’re going to trade places with him.”

Cedric’s stomach did a brand new series of somersaults, just at the thought of climbing from the Firebolt and onto Sirius’ motorbike from hundreds of feet in the air. But he knew that James was right. After what had just happened, they needed to find a way to protect Harry.

James chased Hagrid and Harry while Cedric continued blasting Death Eaters away from them. The Death Eaters had paused their assault of curses, but continued to tail them. That alone unnerved Cedric more than anything else. He had a feeling that he knew what they were waiting for — who they were waiting for.

James pulled the broom up next to the sidecar. Cedric swung his legs over to one side of the broom and gripped the handle with both of his hands.

“What’re yeh doin’?” Hagrid shouted at them.

“Changing the plan!” Cedric shouted. “James, get me a bit higher.”

Cedric was not sure that it would be much safer, but he knew that he would feel more comfortable if he could drop down to Harry’s sidecar, rather than push himself off of the Firebolt. 

“Cedric, don’t —” but Harry cried out in pain before he could finish. No spell had been fired, but Harry’s hand clutched at his scar.

Cedric had no warning as James swerved suddenly. Cedric’s grip failed and he dropped from the broom. A green spark passed through the space Cedric had been sitting. It was not the stroke of luck Cedric would have chosen. He reached out, hoping to connect with the bike, but he did not. His hand only grazed the metal frame of the sidecar as he fell, wind whistling in his ears, and the twinkling lights of the houses below growing brighter.

And then something jerked on the back of Cedric’s hoodie. He was yanked upwards. He reached his hand up and it connected with Harry’s. He locked his hand around Harry’s wrist and Harry did the same for him. 

“We’re nearly there!” Hagrid shouted.

Harry tried pulling Cedric up but another Killing Curse shot past Harry’s ear and Harry pressed himself low against the sidecar. Cedric figured he had at least one hand free for dueling.

He raised his wand in the direction the curse had come from and froze. There, wand drawn and flying through the sky on some strange, inky black cloud, was Voldemort, flesh pale as freshly fallen snow and eyes red as rubies. Cedric felt helpless, dangling from a motorcycle while Voldemort flew towards him, aided by some unknown magic.

Hagrid shouted and steered the bike into a nosedive. Cedric managed to throw a Blasting Curse in Voldemort’s direction as Harry used gravity to pull Cedric into the sidecar. It was a tight squeeze with the two of them, but they had enough room to keep their wands out.

Cedric had a moment to feel relieved that he wasn’t going to crash into the ground when there was a loud bang and the engine of the motorbike began to spark. The nosedive became an uncontrollable spiral.

Cedric had no way to know where Voldemort was nor where James was. He only knew that they were falling and if he did not find a way to right the bike, they would crash, regardless of whether Voldemort managed to curse them.

“You’re mine, Potter!” a high, raspy voice shouted over the wind.

Cedric pressed Harry against the bike and fired Stunning Jinxes wildly into the night sky. Harry pushed against him, shouting at him to let him up. Then Harry’s protests turned into shouts of pain. Harry’s chest grew hot beneath Cedric’s arm and Harry clutched at his scar.

Voldemort’s high, raspy voice carried on the wind. “ _Avada_ —”

Even as Harry screamed in pain, he lifted his wand and fired a fount of golden flame at Voldemort.

There was a loud crack and Voldemort shrieked loudly.

“No!” Voldemort’s cried. “Your wand! Selwyn give me your wand!”

“Hang on!” Hagrid shouted.

A jet of flame burst from the engine, propelling the bike out of the dive. They flew forward at breakneck speed, and Harry still screamed beneath Cedric. Cedric had not seen any curse strike Harry, but something was causing him pain and something was still burning Harry’s chest. Cedric wanted to know what it was, wanted to help, but a red spark flew past his ear, striking Hagrid in the back. Hagrid did not flinch, but Cedric cast a Shield Charm over himself and Harry. Neither of them had the blood of giants, tough enough to resist Stunning Spells.

He strained to maintain his Charm as three more spells bounced off of Cedric’s shield in flashes of light and discordant crashes. The fourth, though, broke through as easily as if his Shield had been made of glass. The white hot light struck Cedric in the chest and he felt blood bubble up in his throat.

Voldemort flew towards them. Cedric did not need to hear the words on Voldemort’s lips to know Voldemort’s intention. He could see it in Voldemort's gleaming red eyes.

There was an explosion overhead and a scream. Voldemort raised his wand — then the sounds and sights of the battle vanished abruptly.

They had done it. They had crossed through the barrier.

The front tire of the bike struck the earth and the vehicle flipped, throwing Cedric, Harry, and Hagrid into the mud. Cedric tumbled, and he felt the glasses James had Duplicated for him back at Styncon Garden snap into pieces. The glass cut into his cheek, and he was fairly certain that every part of his body would be black and blue, but at least he managed to hold onto his wand.

When his body came to a stop, he considered laying there, waiting for someone else to find him, but a yell caught his attention.

Cedric sat up, groaning as he did, and pointed his wand at the figure falling from the sky. “ _Arresto Momentum_!”

James’ fall slowed, thanks to Cedric’s quick spell, and James stumbled into the mud beside Cedric.

“Harry —” James said.

“Who’s out there?” someone shouted.

Cedric turned and saw Ted Tonks come running out of the small house. Andromeda was not far behind him. A third figure stood in the doorway, backlit, face difficult to make out.

“Is that Harry?” Andromeda asked.

Cedric pushed himself to his feet. “I’m not Harry. But he and Hagrid can’t be far.”

The waist-high reeds made it difficult for them to see Harry and Hagrid, but they used the burning motorbike as both a light source and marker to search the garden.

“I’ve got Hagrid here!” James shouted, and Andromeda ran towards him.

Cedric coughed a mouthful of blood into his hand and wiped it on his jeans as he continued his search. He followed a path of flattened weeds and found Harry at the end of it.

It would have been far less worrisome to find Harry unconscious and unmoving in the grass. Instead, Harry shook and gasped painfully for breath. He was not speaking, but something like whispers issued from his mouth and Cedric wondered if he was getting his first glimpse of what Voldemort truly possessing Harry looked like.

But he didn’t have time to worry about what was happening — he needed to find a way to stop it and bring Harry back. Cedric put his hand on Harry’s chest to feel Harry’s heartbeat and instead found Harry warm with fever, a fever that grew warmer as he moved his hand closer to Harry’s pocket. With a wave of his wand, he slashed open Harry’s t-shirt.

Inside his hoodie was a silver tiara in the shape of an eagle’s wings. The tiara had seared through Harry’s t-shirt and burned his chest. Against his better judgement, Cedric tried to pull the tiara away. It burned his fingertips, but even as he ignored the pain and held his grip, the tiara refused to budge.

“What the bloody hell have you done, Harry?” Cedric asked.

He did the only thing he could think of. He cast the Severing Charm on Harry. It would leave a scar, but Cedric knew of no other way to remove this strange object that was continuing to burn itself into Harry.

He yanked the tiara away and tossed it aside, glad it had not decided to cling to his hand the same way it had to Harry. He quickly Healed the crescent-shaped wound left by his Severing Charm and a pink layer of new flesh knitted together over the wound.

Sweat had begun to form on Harry’s brow and he was still shaking. If that object was cursed…

Cedric opened his mouth to shout for someone to help him move Harry, but instead, Cedric coughed up another handful of blood. He cursed under his breath and tried again.

“I’ve got Harry here!” he said, as loud as he could.

He heard movement in the reeds, and though he knew it was just James, he readied his wand. The barriers around the Tonks’ property should have protected them, but he could not help being worried that it had gone wrong, just as their plan to move Harry early had gone wrong.

Cedric’s paranoia was unnecessary. James and Ted Tonks burst through the reeds and knelt by Harry’s side. Cedric backed away to let them examine Harry more thoroughly. His hand brushed against the tiara, and he was surprised to find that it was already cool.

Cedric picked the tiara up and examined it again. He noticed the inscription along the band.

_Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure._

The motto of Ravenclaw House. He swallowed down a lump of blood. When Harry had told Cedric that he had found something in Hogwarts, Cedric had expected a lead on a Horcrux, not _one of the Horcruxes_. 

Cedric could already feel his clothes growing tight as the Polyjuice Potion wore off, so he pulled off his jacket and wrapped the small tiara inside the fleece lining. He wasn’t about to carry this diadem with his bare hands, and he certainly didn’t want James and Ted to see it. 

While James and Ted lifted Harry out of the mud, Cedric considered the short list of things that could destroy a Horcrux. He had learned through his research at Grimmauld Place that the only things that could destroy a Horcrux were about as dangerous and cursed as Horcruxes themselves. He did not look forward to trying to get his hands on something as deadly as basilisk venom or cockatrice blood.

Cedric coughed again, this time into his elbow. As he stumbled across the garden after James and Ted, he was surprised by how unstable the ground was beneath his feet. He slipped in the mud and nearly dropped the Horcrux.

“Alright, son?” Ted Tonks asked, as James shouldered the rest of Harry’s weight and carried Harry inside.

Cedric nodded and managed to grab the door frame before he fell over.

“You took a nasty fall through the barriers. James said you were ambushed.”

“They knew,” Cedric managed to say before he had to cough up more blood. He held onto the door frame, determined to stay on his feet. He had the Horcrux, and he had to be responsible for what happened to it. No one knew what it was beside him and Harry, and if Harry was not able to hold onto it, then it fell to Cedric. He had to make sure nothing happened to it. “Someone must have told them…”

“Cedric, you don’t sound alright. Let me take a look at you.”

Cedric stumbled again, but this time, he stumbled into someone. It wasn’t Ted Tonks who caught him. Cedric looked up into the face of Regulus Black. He didn’t know why Regulus was here or how, but he did know that Regulus knew about Horcruxes. Regulus could be trusted.

Cedric dropped his hoodie into Regulus’s hands, coughed again, and collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated! 
> 
> See you December 25 for Chapter 5: Lily's Loss


	5. Lily's Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry arrives at the Burrow unharmed. The same cannot be said of everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As 2020 comes to a close, so does the content I have ready for you guys. Chapter 5 is the last chapter I got to work on during the summer, before school began. I'm going to try very hard to have chapter 6 ready for January 8 but that's not a promise, it's just a hope. From there, my hope is to get one chapter up a month, but we'll just have to wait and see what 2021 has in store for us. Keep an eye on the twitter, tumblr, or discord for updates.
> 
> I hope you are able to enjoy your holiday, in whatever fashion you spend it in, and I wish you all a safe and healthy 2021.

_He slammed into the magical barrier and crumpled to the ground in a most undignified manner. Slowly, physical form aching and strained, he picked himself up and turned on the nearest cloaked figure._

“Crucio!” _he shrieked, and the curse burst from Selwyn’s wand, fueled by his fury._

_As the curse struck him, Stan Shunpike collapsed to the ground and writhed in pain._

_This oaf was easy to unleash his rage on. He had known this boy would be slow, dim-witted as he was, and doubly so under the Imperius Curse. So he had sent the boy after the half-giant abomination. But of course Alastor Moody had seen through his plans. Of course Moody had been prepared! He should have known!_

_He was certain that Dumbledore, that fool, would have placed the boy with his mother. But Moody was craftier — not a better wizard by any means, but he thought differently than Dumbledore. Yes, Moody would not allow the boy to travel with someone as obvious as the mother, would have wanted to see to the care of the boy personally. At least, that was what he had expected._

_He hurled a curse at the barrier with a cry of rage but it did not even ripple. The Order had outwitted him, and he had nothing to show for it but a broken wand. He did not feel sorry for Lucius’ loss, but Ollivander would certainly know what it cost to lie to him._

Harry screamed as he returned to his own mind and body. He hurt — worse than his nightmares. Something burned against his stomach and his scar felt like it was going to tear his head open. His scar had not hurt this much since Voldemort had possessed him in the Ministry of Magic, which itself was a pain only comparable to the moment of Quirrell’s death, when the shadow of Voldemort’s soul had passed through him.

“Harry,” a distant voice pleaded, “you’re alright — Harry, you’re safe —”

Something cool and wet pressed against his scar. It did not help with the pain.

But it was only pain, and it was pain that Harry was familiar with. He swallowed down the agony and opened his eyes. His father hovered over him, along with Ted Tonks. Both of them had lost colour in their faces and Harry wondered just how bad his fit had been.

Though his head throbbed and his stomach burned, he managed to say, “I’m alright.”

“Not well enough to travel by Portkey, I’d wager,” Ted said.

“I can send word to the Burrow,” James said, “let Molly and the others know we’ve made it here safely.”

“Where are we?” Harry asked. “I can take a Portkey —”

“Cedric’s not fit for travel anyway,” James said. “You just rest.”

The wet towel on his forehead fell into his lap with a plop as Harry sat up suddenly. He swayed, dizzy from the sudden motion, and splayed his hands against the worn bedspread to steady himself. “What do you mean Cedric’s not fit for travel?”

“He’s alri —”

But James was interrupted by a far colder, unsympathetic voice. “We can’t stay,” Regulus Black said, standing in the doorway, hands full with a bloody bundle of clothes.

Harry’s stomach turned.

“And what would you have us do?” James asked. His voice was surprisingly calm for how tight his hand was on Harry’s shoulder. “The Portkey leaves in —” he checked his wristwatch “— two minutes. Cedric’s hardly conscious, and Harry’s only just woken —”

“We’ll be lucky to have two minutes before the Ministry arrives,” Regulus said. “The Trace surely followed Harry as all those curses were cast around him. The Ministry knows he’s here, and I think we would all prefer if they did not find him when they arrived.”

James deliberated, but it was brief. With a colourful curse, he said, “I’ll get Cedric, then.”

Harry watched his father disappear into a hallway. Though a trip by Portkey sounded unappealing, he thought Regulus was right. He did not want the Ministry to know he was here, and he certainly didn’t want them to know he carried a piece of Voldemort’s soul with him.

Panic seized Harry suddenly, and his pain was forgotten as he patted down his shirt. Something had cut his clothes open, and while he found the source of the pain in his abdomen — a crescent-shaped burn where the diadem had been — he saw no sign of the diadem itself.

Had it fallen? Had Voldemort picked it up? _Had his father seen it?_

Then Regulus, as he saw Harry’s panic, dumped the bloody sweatshirt into his lap. Through the lump of fleece, Harry felt the shape of the diadem. He did not know how Regulus had come by the diadem, but he was glad to know it was safe.

Harry pulled it against his chest and closed his eyes. The scar on his forehead pulsed with pain as he did, and Harry wondered what had caused the Horcrux to hurt him. He had handled it easily before tonight. What had changed? Had it reacted to being so close to Voldemort? Was it because Harry had tried to kill Voldemort? 

Though Harry wasn’t exactly the one who had fired that burst of golden flame that had struck Voldemort. Harry’s wand had done that on his own.

“You sure you’re alright, son?” Ted Tonks asked. He picked up a hairbrush from a vanity and handed it to Regulus, but his eyes were on Harry. “You took a hard fall when you came in. We can find a way to hide you when the Ministry comes.”

“I’ll be okay.” Harry rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. He guessed by the faded Quidditch posters and Hufflepuff banner that this was Tonks’ room. “You guys have done enough for us.”

Ted laughed. “Without you, Dora would have run off with Lupin in the middle of the night, and Dromeda would’ve taken their heads off when they returned. Your dad’s as well, I reckon, if he’d been in on it. And, despite the attack, you arrived here safely. No, I think today worked out well enough.”

James returned, with Cedric slumped against him. Cedric was pale, and blood covered the front of his shirt, but Harry saw no other sign of a wound, nor clues as to how Cedric might have been hurt. Hagrid loomed behind them and carefully shouldered his way into the room.

Andromeda Tonks followed. Her face was pinched with worry as she wiped blood from her hands onto a towel. She looked uncomfortably like Walburga Black’s portrait as she scowled at the hairbrush in Regulus’ hand.

“I still think this is unsafe,” she said.

“You’ve healed Hagrid up alright,” James said, “and done the best you can for Cedric. Picksie should have Apparated to the Burrow with the potions that Cedric needs, so I think that’s the best place for us.”

Cedric, weary and weak as he looked, lifted his own hand to the hairbrush. Hagrid, too, put a large finger on the bristles.

“Wait —” Andromeda said, but her hand didn’t reach for Cedric, it reached towards Regulus.

Harry had never considered just what Regulus turning to the Order must have meant for Andromeda, who had left her family as completely as Sirius had. Her eyes were soft as she looked at Regulus, and Harry forgot that she had ever looked like Walburga. He remembered Tonks instead, and how sad she had looked all throughout last year — sad, and alone.

Andromeda’s hand hesitated, inches above Regulus’ forearm, the barest indication of affection, but suddenly she withdrew it. “Tell Nymphadora to send word she’s alright,” she finally said.

Regulus nodded.

“Harry,” James said quickly, “the Portkey —”

Harry scrambled to his feet and put his hand on the brush handle as it glowed blue. He was jerked forward as if a hook had tucked into that very same crescent shaped burn on his stomach. He tightened his grip on the bundle in his arms. The next thing he knew, he slammed into the ground outside the Weasleys’ house.

Carefully, Harry picked himself up and was glad that at least he had managed to complete the journey without puking. Cedric had not been so lucky. He stumbled away from James and heaved a stomachful of something dark and viscous into Mrs Weasley’s flowerbed.

The door flew open and light flooded the garden. Ginny Weasley practically leapt down the front steps until she reached Harry, where she pulled him into the tightest embrace Harry had ever received from her.

“Hi,” he said.

And then someone was pulling them apart.

Mad-Eye Moody put himself between Harry and Ginny and pointed his wand at Harry’s chest.

“Hey!” Hagrid shouted. “What d’yeh think yer —”

Mad-Eye ignored Hagrid. “What book did I give Longbottom after our first lesson?” he asked, scars on his face drawn together in a scowl.

Harry blinked, searching his memory for such a small, insignificant detail. “I don’t —”

“Book — Longbottom — first lesson!” Mad-Eye barked.

“I don’t know! Something about herbal remedies — _Herbal Antidotes_ , maybe?”

This seemed to satisfy Mad-Eye, who swung his wand between James and Cedric. “And you two — Kingsley got word to me that you never made it to him.”

“You-Know-Who figured out who Harry was,” James said, voice still surprisingly calm. His knuckles, however, were strained with his tight grip on his wand. “I changed the plan and stuck close to Harry. Ask whatever you need to, Moody, but quickly. Cedric’s lost a lot of blood and I promised Andromeda I’d get a potion in him as soon as he arrived.”

“What were Dumbledore’s last words to the Order?”

James closed his eyes. “Hope will be our most powerful weapon —”

“— but hope is nothing without trust,” Cedric finished, though his voice was weak. 

Satisfied, Moody turned his wand on Regulus, but before Moody could say anything, Regulus Transfigured himself into a cat and slunk inside behind James and Cedric.

Finally, Moody lowered his wand.

“Well, aren’ yeh goin’ ter interrogate me?” Hagrid asked, still glaring at Moody. “Yeh gave everyone else the bloody run around.”

“You’re half-giant,” Moody grunted. “Can’t be Polyjuiced.” He glanced out at the dark yard. “Best get inside, Potter. No knowing who’s going to arrive tonight.”

“What was all that about?” Harry asked as Ginny pulled him into the house.

“Mad-Eye said you were ambushed,” Ginny whispered, “even though no one outside the Order knew you were being moved tonight. He said someone must have betrayed the Order tonight.”

Harry swayed on his feet, and perhaps might have fallen over if Hagrid hadn’t put a hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, lad,” Hagrid said. “Yeh took a nasty fall an’ a hasty Por’key trip. Bes’ not move too quickly.”

Harry wasn’t sure his unease had anything to do with those things, but he let Ginny lead him into a chair just the same.

James had gotten Cedric seated on the sofa. Fleur Delacour checked Cedric’s pulse with her wand and kept up a steady stream of conversation to keep him conscious while Picksie dug through a box of potions bottles for a Blood-Replenishing Potion. Molly Weasley paced nervously behind the sofa, and her eyes kept drifting to the grandfather clock that did not tell time, but rather told her where her family was. Unfortunately, even hers, Ginny’s, and Bill’s hands pointed to “Mortal Danger.”

“Mum, sit, please,” Bill Weasley said, and pressed a cup of tea into his mother’s hands.

But Molly Weasley did not sit. She did not even seem to notice the tea in her hands.

“Here!” Picksie said suddenly, and produced a bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion.

James took it and uncorked it, only to have it snatched from his hands by Fleur, who very tenderly helped Cedric drink it down.

Harry glanced at Bill to see if he was worried at all by Fleur’s gentle treatment of Cedric, but Bill did not seem bothered in the least. He had found a bottle of Firewhiskey and was pouring it into his mother’s teacup. Next, he filled a glass for Hagrid, who took it readily. He handed another to James, who looked at it uneasily, then set it aside. Harry watched as a familiar black cat with a white stripe down its chest jumped up on the table and eyed the glass.

Before Harry could ask Regulus why he was still a cat, there was a crash in the kitchen. Everyone jumped and reached for their wands — but it was only Tonks. Her nose shrank and regrew as she entered to assure them all that it was truly her. In her hands, she carried a scrap of leather that might have once been a shoe and a rusty oil can.

“Moody’s doing a perimeter check,” she said, “making sure the protective charms are all in order. Doesn’t trust my work, I s’pose. Er — I think I broke a bowl just now. I’m sorry, Molly, I’ll set it right.”

But Molly didn’t seem interested in the bowl. Her eyes were on the worn objects in Tonks’ hand. “Were those Portkeys?” she asked, voice just barely audible.

Tonks winced. “Er — yeah. Arthur and Fred should’ve been back first, and the other one should’ve been James and Cedric. But they found their way back alright anyway, Molly, so I’m sure Arthur and Fred will too.”

Mrs Weasley burst into tears. Bill wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the sofa.

“They’ll be alright, Mum,” he said.

Harry swallowed down his own worry and watched Ginny’s face, but it was hard to tell how she felt. Her brown eyes were hard and her face was pinched tight. She was so free when she expressed her joy and anger, much like Lily was, but she didn’t wear her worry the way Molly Weasley did, nor even the way Lily did. She buried it, and Harry wished there was a way to tell her she didn’t have to, not with him.

He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. She squeezed back.

A blue flash of light appeared in the garden and Molly hurried to the window. She reached for the floral print curtains and peered outside. “It’s Remus and Hermione —”

Tonks was already running for the door. She scrambled around Hagrid and stubbed her toe against the sofa, but none of that seemed to slow her down as she flew down the steps and out into the garden.

“Tonks!” James shouted after her. “Wait —”

But Harry and Ginny, too, were already running for the door. Harry was hardly down the porch steps when Hermione grabbed him and buried her face in his chest. She tried to stifle a sob, and Harry understood perfectly.

Then James pulled them apart, though less aggressively than Moody had torn Ginny and Harry apart.

“Hermione,” he said in a calm voice, hand on her shoulder and wand aimed at her chest, “I need you to tell me how you helped Regulus Black escape Hogwarts.”

She frowned at him and down out his wand. “I — Harry and I used a Time Turner to get Buckbeak up to Flitwick’s office. Is it important? I don’t understand —”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “that’s what we did.”

And James lowered his wand. He didn’t not look relieved one way or the other. Instead, he looked incredibly tired as he stared at Tonks and Remus, locked in an embrace.

“Tonks,” James called, though it came out more like a sigh, “did you clear him?”

Remus let go of Tonks. “She did. There was a kiss first — perhaps not the most professional of moves from a Ministry Auror — I’m glad you and Harry are alright.”

James lowered his wand and cracked a smile, but the exhaustion did not fade. “Only cost us the Firebolt. Should’ve known by the name that it was flammable.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow. “And no scorches, you know?” she gestured below her waist.

“Everything intact.” James’ smile widened into a proper grin, and Harry thought that the ease of this exchange, just as much as the vows exchanged and toasts given, solidified Tonks as family.

“Where’s everyone else?” Hermione asked.

“Cedric’s inside,” Harry said, “but he’s alright, mostly. He —”

A burst of yellow light appeared on the horizon suddenly, an explosion of force, and the ground shook beneath their feet. When the shaking stopped and Harry found his footing again, he saw that something was burning in the hills. Yellow and orange flames burned bright against the night sky and plumes of black smoke blocked out the stars.

The door to the Burrow slammed open once more and Cedric stumbled down the front steps.

Fleur grabbed him before he could fall into the pathway. “Cedric! You are still ‘urt — you cannot —”

“That’s my house!” Cedric tried to pull away, but he didn’t have the strength. That seemed to be enough to convince him that Fleur was right. His shoulders slumped. “My parents are there —”

James stiffened suddenly, like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights. His eyes fixed on the blaze and Harry knew exactly what the sudden loss of colour on his father’s face meant.

Either Sirius or Lily were in trouble.

Remus and Tonks were already gone. They had run for the Apparition line the moment Cedric had announced that it was his home under attack.

Fleur carefully sat Cedric down on the doorstep. “Bill and I will ‘elp,” she said, and kissed Cedric’s cheek. “Your family will be fine. There iz nothing to worry about.”

She and Bill, too, ran for the Apparition line.

Harry glared at his father. “Aren’t you going to help?”

“I’m staying with you,” James said. Despite his ashen face, his voice was still calm. “Come on, we should wait inside.”

But when Harry looked back, he saw that Hagrid, Picksie, Molly, and Regulus gathered in front of the house to watch the fire on the horizon. 

“But how?” Cedric stared at the distant flames. “How could they get through? There were barriers… no one should have been able to get in — I saw the barrier keep out Voldemort at the Tonks’ place — so how could they…”

Regulus’ voice, though quiet, seemed to cut through the night as easily and clearly as a dragon’s claws through flesh. “As an Auror, I imagine you’re familiar with the ways a Death Eater can infiltrate someone’s family.”

Harry would always be amazed that the Black family, a family so insistent on appearances and impressions, had managed to raise two sons who each had so little tact.

“I’m sure your parents are fine, Cedric,” Ginny said, and glared at Regulus.

It was a harsher glare than even Sirius might have given in this situation. Harry wasn’t sure if there was a metric for a relationship forged on slices of ham on a rainy Quidditch pitch. Regulus spoke highly of Ginny, and had a healthy respect for Ginny’s curses, as anyone who knew her well did. And in turn, Ginny did not tolerate Regulus’ sulking, but that was true of how she treated Harry, too. She did not let either of them brood.

Even now, she seemed to see the hard look in Harry’s green eyes and the crease of worry on his forehead. She squeezed his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder. Harry was surprised by how easily that comforted him. He knew that she, too, had to be worried for her father and brothers. He leaned against her, hoping that if they shared each other’s fear, it might hurt a little bit less.

Then there was the pop of an Apparition and both Harry and Ginny straightened and lifted their wands.

Molly Weasley, however, did not share their caution. She shrieked and ran forward, as Bill walked into the light spilling out from the house. He carried a body in his arms, face splattered in something dark, and red hair singed.

“Oh — Georgie —” Molly wailed, attempting to take George from Bill’s arms.

Ginny left Harry and ran to help her mother. She and Molly, aided by Hermione and Picksie, helped carry George inside. Bill went to follow but James pressed his wand into Bill’s chest.

Harry blinked. “Dad, he was just here.”

James swallowed hard. “He just came back from a battle. He could be anyone.”

Bill’s scars glinted in the waning moonlight. They were criss-crossed with scratches and dirt, and his face was heavy with exhaustion. Whatever he had just come from, however brief he had been there, had been bad. 

He raised his hands in surrender. “Please, Potter, I want to get in there and tend to my brother. Do this quickly.”

“At our first headquarters,” James said, “what was the engraving on the winerack in the cellar?”

“Merlin, how should I know that? Regulus charmed it so no one but he and Sirius could get in after Mundungus —” Though it was a tired smile, it was a smile nonetheless. “Clever,” Bill said. “If I’d tried to lie, come up with something —”

“Before you go inside,” James interrupted, “is Lily alright?”

Bill shook his head. “When Fleur and I got there, we didn’t even see a way in. Then Tonks came out of the fire, dragging George with her. I saw he was injured, so I took him and left. Sorry — I have to figure out what cursed him, see if I can’t help.” And Bill ran inside.

Harry started running for the Apparition line, but this time it was James who grabbed his shoulder and held him back.

“Harry, you can’t go after her —”

“Why the bloody hell can’t I? Why won’t you?”

“You were just cursed — injured — I’m staying with you. Trust Remus —”

“I can still fight!”

“Harry,” Cedric said. His voice was not loud, but it carried across the garden. “She’ll be alright.”

The scowl on Harry’s face and the tension in his shoulders did not abate, but he did not try to break away from James. He glared at the distant fire, trying to understand how the Diggorys had been betrayed — or had one of Cedric’s parents given them away? Harry had not always liked Amos and Fiona, but he could not imagine them intentionally harming the Order.

Moody limped around from the east side of the house. His eye whirred, almost in a rhythm with his uneven walk as he approached the group transfixed by the blaze. 

“Explains why I found Sirius’ Portkey, but not hide nor tail of Lily’s,” Moody grunted. “I’ll go and help. If I don’t return, Potter, you’re in charge.”

Harry watched his father’s shoulders stiffen as Moody disappeared into the darkness and a crack filled the garden. There was a strange quiver in James’ lips, but then they stiffened into a firm line and even quirked into a forced smile. “Don’t worry, Harry,” James said, “he didn’t mean you.”

Harry swallowed hard, thinking that no, Moody certainly hadn’t meant him, and while he appreciated his father’s attempt at levity, Harry still had his own weight to bear. It just wasn’t leadership of the Order.

Harry grimaced as he realised that he was already off to a poor start when it came to his own task. The diadem, nearly lost in battle, now sat unguarded on a chair in the Weasley’s living room. He considered going back inside to retrieve it, but a pair of sharp cracks had him rushing forward instead.

James put a hand on Harry’s chest and raised his wand.

Fiona Diggory and Fleur staggered up the path. Fiona leaned heavily on Fleur, and both were covered in something dark. Harry prayed it was soot and not blood.

Behind them came Moody, levitating an unconscious Amos Diggory.

Cedric left the support of the porch and stumbled down the path. “What’s happened? Mum —”

Fiona coughed, and when her hand came away from her mouth it was covered in black soot. “I’m alright, son.” She coughed again.

“Where’s my mum?” Harry asked, looking anxiously between Fiona, Fleur, and Moody.

James sighed. “Cedric — can you verify —”

“I think I know my own mother.” Cedric said.

“Idiot boy,” Moody snapped. He set Amos down in the grass and pointed his wand at Cedric. “I could have killed each one of you by now. You’ve let your guard down. _Constant vigilance_!”

Cedric glowered at Moody. “This isn’t a teaching moment! I need to know what happened to my mum and dad!”

“No, Diggory, it’s not a bloody teaching moment. It’s the real deal. Are you an Auror or aren’t you? Just because your mum breathed in a bit of smoke and your dad was cursed, you’re going to lose your head?”

“Enough,” James interrupted, voice equal measures exhausted and commanding. “Fleur, help Fiona inside and ask Picksie to check her over. And Hagrid, can you get Amos? Picksie will be able to tell if the Diggorys are Polyjuiced or not. Cedric, go inside and have Regulus get you another potion. You’re still pale.”

“You trust a house-elf with something like that?” Moody grunted.

“I trust Picksie with my life. Now, Moody —”

“If we’re throwing all caution to the wind, then I suppose you’ve nothing to ask me, then, Potter?”

James closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Did you see Lily there?”

“We found the Diggorys in the entryway. Tonks and Lupin had just dragged them there and handed them off to us. Do you want me to waste time chatting or do you want me to go after her?” But he was already heading to the Apparition line, where he disappeared with a crack, leaving James and Harry alone in the garden. 

The night was silent once more. The waning moon had not yet risen. There was no light but the glow of fire on the horizon ahead of them, and the dim yellow light from the Burrow’s windows behind them.

“You know,” Harry said, turning his wand over in his hands, “I always wondered how Sirius could have ever suspected that Remus would betray us, but I guess it’s a pretty slippery slope, isn’t it?”

James hesitated. “We knew there was a mole in the Order. The Death Eaters just knew too much about where we were supposed to be and when. We lost a lot of good friends because of that information getting into the wrong hands.”

“You mean because of Peter Pettigrew.”

“I told you, it’s complicated.”

“I know. But if Mum’s hurt because someone’s a traitor, I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive them.” Harry did not feel angry as he said it. He felt strangely cold. There was no fury, only certainty.

“Harry, if you —”

“I don’t think it was any of us who were there,” he added, “or Voldemort would have known I was with Hagrid right away, instead of Pyrites figuring it out because I doubled back to help you. But someone had to have told Voldemort we were leaving tonight, and somehow, they got into the Diggorys’ house.”

Harry remembered Dumbledore’s warning in his office, before the Death Eaters had infiltrated Hogwarts, before Dumbledore had fallen from the Astronomy Tower by Snape’s wand. Dumbledore had warned Harry to be careful who he shared the prophecy with. Dumbledore had warned Harry not to trust Cedric. Had it truly been Amos and Fiona that he did not trust?

A blue spark flashed in front of them, and Harry’s heart rate doubled as Sirius and Ron came tumbling out of the sky. Sirius and Ron found their footing and the worn, moldy hat that had brought them to the Burrow fell to the ground. Harry resisted the urge to run forward, instead, raising his wand as his father did.

“Harry!” Ron shouted, and ran at them. He skidded to a stop when he caught sight of the drawn wands. “What’s going on?”

“Ron,” James asked, voice as calm as it had been all evening, “do you remember what we got Harry for Christmas six years ago? Your first year at Hogwarts?”

Ron frowned. “I don’t — oh! A chess set. Because I mentioned it to my mum. But why do you need to know?”

“And Sirius —”

“Is ‘son of a bitch’ good enough?” Sirius asked.

It wouldn't have been good enough for Mad-Eye, but it was for James, who quickly threw his arms around Sirius. James’ shoulders slumped as he nearly fell into his best friend, as if the burden of responsibility vanished suddenly with someone else there to share in it. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Sirius said. “Arabella Figg talks a hell of a lot for an old lady. After we missed the Portkey, she made us take a full bloody tea until she was sure it was safe to make a new one. I’ve learned more about Kneazle breeding in the last half hour than I ever wanted to in my life.”

Despite the typical Sirius-like humour in this story, Sirius’ face remained drawn in a scowl.

“Are you hurt?” James asked.

Sirius shook his head. “Pissed. I want to know who gave us away.” His gaze strayed away from James and Harry to the fire on the horizon. “Is that anyone we know?”

The answer stuck in Harry’s throat. 

“Ron,” James said, “you might want to go inside.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“George was hurt,” Harry managed to say. “It… it looked bad.”

As Ron took off for the house, Sirius’ face darkened with both fear and anger. “And Lily?”

“We don’t know,” Harry said, and before he could tell Sirius that Remus and Tonks probably needed his help, there were three successive pops. Remus, Tonks, and Mad-Eye had returned with Lily.

She was slumped against Tonks, with her left arm draped over Tonks’ shoulders and her right hanging limp. Her usually vibrant green eyes seemed dull and unfocused as Tonks half-dragged her into the garden until they reached Sirius, who had his wand leveled at them. James, too, had his wand raised, but his face was slack with shock as Tonks set Lily down in the grass. If a duel was about to be had, James would not have the reflexes necessary to survive it.

“I’m me!” Tonks snapped, and her hair shifted through an entire rainbow of colours in a moment before settling back on pink. “Now help me with her!”

Harry and James both ran to Tonks. James lit the tip of his wand, illuminating Lily’s injuries and Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach. Lily’s right arm was glaring red and covered in blisters, and her hand was swollen and purple in a way that Harry did not think was a natural response to a burn.

Regardless, he had to leave that part of Lily’s wounds to Tonks, since Harry did not know much about Healing burns. His own wand tip glowed blue as he pressed it to Lily’s chest and the light fluttered and flickered with her unsteady heartbeat.

Harry looked up to Sirius, meaning to ask for help, but Sirius still had his wand pointed at Moody and Remus.

“Mad-Eye,” Sirius said, “tell me what was in the writing desk at our first Headquarters.”

“Boggart.” Moody grunted. “I’m going to check the barriers again to make sure we weren’t followed. Potter, give me a hand —”

James looked up at Moody. He was not helping, exactly. He did not have the Healing experience that even Harry had. He was merely holding Lily’s uninjured hand and a Wand-Lighting Charm over them so that Tonks had ample light to work by. Despite how easily his work could have been handled by Harry, the hard glare he shot at Moody indicated that he was not about to move.

Moody seemed to understand. “I’ll get Black’s help,” he grunted, and hurried into the Burrow.

Remus still had his wand drawn, but it was limp at his side. “Ask away, Sirius,” he said.

But Sirius hesitated. His grip on his wand tightened.

“Sirius,” Tonks interrupted, “I can put her hand back together but I need your help with her burns so if you would hurry up —”

“What was it you said to me this afternoon?” Sirius asked.

Remus’ Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Sirius… don’t…”

“If you’re really Remus, what did you say to me before the wedding?”

“I said that I would never love you less.”

Sirius lowered his wand and joined Tonks in repairing Lily’s arm. He took charge smoothly, as if he had not just wrenched a private conversation out of his very private best friend. 

“Harry,” he said, “let Tonks monitor her pulse. Watch me. You won’t get a much better chance to see burn Healing than this.”

Harry moved aside so that Tonks could take his place. He watched Sirius’ wand illuminate, and in each place the pale green light touched, the colour of her skin faded from red to soft pink. Blisters oozed and shrunk as he, ever so slowly, wound the light around Lily’s arm.

Harry’s eyes drifted away from Sirius’ work and up to Sirius’ face. Sirius was usually so easy to read, but at the moment Harry could see nothing in his expression but intense concentration only on his spellwork. 

“Remus,” Sirius said suddenly, voice strangely detached, “Conjure me a bowl with water and a towel.”

Remus seemed to be relieved to be given something to do. He knelt between Sirius and Tonks and did just as Sirius had asked.

“Tonks —” Sirius said, but Tonks had already grabbed the towel with her free hand, soaked it in water, and placed it on Lily’s shoulder. She moved her wand to Lily’s shoulder and Harry watched with renewed interest as rivulets of water wove like netting out of the towel and across Lily’s burns. They glowed pale and blue like Tonks’ wand tip and seemed to constrict until they had disappeared completely into Lily’s arm.

“Remus —” Sirius said, but Remus seemed to know what was needed of him without being told. He took the towel from Lily’s shoulder, soaked it again, and replaced it. Tonks, once more, wove the water like threads down Lily’s arms until they were soaked into the skin.

Harry and James could do little but watch as their friends worked in silence. When Harry realised that Tonks was no longer monitoring Lily’s heartbeat, he pressed his wand to Lily’s chest, and watched as the uneven pulse slowed to a healthy rhythm.

Lily’s unfocused gaze faded as her heartbeat steadied, and she looked up at Harry and James with a weak smile.

“Don’t talk or move,” James warned, but lifted her uninjured hand and pressed his lips against it. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, and winced.

“Mum — don’t,” Harry said.

She didn’t seem interested in listening. “Is everyone alright? George was hurt —”

“Stop,” James said. “I haven’t heard Molly wail since she saw him, so I think that’s a good sign. Amos is unconscious, but everyone else is okay. Though… Arthur and Fred haven’t arrived.”

Lily closed her eyes. “Damn it. They knew, James — Snape and Crabbe were on us immediately —”

“Snape?” Harry and James both exclaimed.

“Their hoods didn’t stay on too well at the speeds we were flying. Snape’s curse cut off George’s ear — there was so much blood I thought —” She choked on a yelp and her whole body tensed. “Sirius —”

“Sorry,” Sirius said. “You messed your hand up something awful. What’d you do, center a Blasting Curse on your own wand?”

“Not on purpose,” she sighed, and closed her eyes again. 

“You’ll live, at least,” Sirius grunted. “I’m doing what I can, but honestly, Lily? You might need to get used to dueling left-handed.”

“Might need to get used to not dueling at all,” she murmured.

“What?” James asked sharply. “What happened?”

“Yaxley. Bastard threw a curse at me at the same time I threw mine at him. Well, I guess he was a little faster on the draw, because the backlash shattered my wand. Blew up the whole house, it felt like.”

“You’re lucky it was just your arm that you hurt,” Tonks said in awe. “The whole house did blow up. Remus and I dragged you out.”

“I hope Yaxley burned with it.”

The green glow of Sirius’ wand faded. “That’s as much as we can do for the moment. Let’s get inside, get you bandaged.”

Harry and Sirius helped Lily out of the damp grass and onto her feet.

James pulled her unhurt arm around his shoulder. “I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to carry you across the threshold anymore,” he said.

“I’ve hurt my arm, not my legs, you prat.” But she leaned against him regardless, and together, they walked inside.

When Picksie saw Lily, she squeaked loudly, something akin to a delicate shriek, and immediately helped Lily into a plush chair. She dug through Lily’s Potions box and pulled out a green bottle. She Conjured a bowl to pour its contents in, and together, Sirius and Picksie began to rub the salve into Lily’s burns.

The Weasley living room was crowded, stuffed with double the amount of usual occupants, one of whom was a half-giant. George had been laid out on the sofa, and the blood had been cleaned from his face. Molly was stroking his singed hair and sobbing into a handkerchief while Bill and Fleur tended George. His left ear was missing in its entirety, nothing but a bloody hole to mark its old place.

Ginny looked up as Harry came in, and they exchanged wan smiles, each communicating they were alright and no one was going to die. She picked up a roll of gauze and helped cut strips for Sirius and for Fleur. Ron, who was doing his best to comfort his mother, spared Harry a similar glance, though the fondness was different.

Hermione sat nearby. She had picked up the bloodied sweatshirt, but instead of handing it to Harry and berating him for leaving it unattended, she gave him a weak smile. 

Cedric sat with his mother and his father, who was conscious now. Hagrid poured the three of them glasses of Bill’s whiskey, then refilled his own.

Harry, confident his mother was being tended by better hands than his, sat down on the floor beside Ginny and picked up gauze to help.

They all worked in silence. The only sound was glasses clinking and whiskey being poured as drinks made their way around. Remus downed his glass in a single gulp and returned the glass to Hagrid for another. Tonks, however, intercepted the second glass and passed it to Regulus. Then she turned, and with a mischievous smile, whispered something in Remus’ ear. His ears turned bright red, and he did not reach for any more alcohol.

Then there were two cracks in the yard. Harry reached for his wand, as did anyone else who was not wounded nor tending to someone wounded — or, in Mrs Weasley’s case, crying over someone wounded.

There was a commotion at the door, but no sounds of curses or a duel occurred.

Instead, Arthur Weasley’s voice carried through the door, “I’ll prove to you who I am, Moody, after I’ve seen my son! Now back off if you know what’s good for you!”

The front door to the Burrow opened with a crash, and Arthur and Fred pushed past Moody and Regulus, past Ginny and Harry, to George’s side. Mr Weasley and Fred looked exhausted and pale, but unhurt, for which Harry was grateful.

“Oh —” Mrs Weasley wailed, “Arthur —” They embraced, tightly but briefly.

“How is he?” Arthur asked. 

“He’ll live.” Bill pressed his wand against the bandages and fixed them in place. “But Dad, I’m afraid you won’t be able to tell him anymore that he’s got two ears to listen twice as well as he talks.”

Mrs Weasley burst into another fit of hysterics and George stirred at the commotion.

Fred tightened his hands around the back of the sofa, but he cracked a smile. “How do you feel, Georgie?”

George glanced at the small crowd gathered around the sofa. His hand reached curiously for the bandages around his head. Finally, he said in a quiet voice, “Saintlike.”

Fred glanced worriedly between Bill and his mum. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Saintlike,” George said again, pulling Fred’s attention back, and he gestured to the bandages over the space his left ear used to be. “You see… I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?”

Fred’s face went from white to red as he snorted. “Pathetic,” he muttered. “Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey?”

“I thought it was alright,” Bill said.

“Oh, in that case,” George sighed, “I’d better try something else — oh, Mum, honestly, I’m fine. At least you can tell us apart now.”

Mrs Weasley did not stop crying, but she did bring her sobs down to sniffles. She dried her nose with a very damp handkerchief and Fleur handed her a clean one.

“Everyone else make it?” George asked. “Last I remember, was Yaxley casting a curse. I barely got a Shield Charm up to protect Lily.”

“So it wasn’t luck that saved your pretty face,” Sirius said to Lily as he finished off her bandages.

“I’m sure Felix had something to do with it,” she murmured.

Moody, still in the doorway, snorted. “Luck is the only reason any of us are still alive. They were more prepared than we were. Whoever gave us away is somewhere in this room. We’re the only ones who knew Harry was being moved tonight.”

“Apart from those at the other safe houses,” Remus said, eyes on the Diggorys.

“I should think,” James said quietly, “that what they didn’t know is just as important as what they did. Harry mentioned to me that Voldemort didn’t target him right away. Our plan to throw off the Death Eaters, should they have been watching us, worked.”

“Voldemort went right for me and Moody, just as we expected,” Tonks said, “and they also didn’t know that the Burrow was our final destination. Otherwise, I think we would have seen a fight here instead of at the Diggorys’ house. So it can’t have been anyone who flew with us tonight, and it can’t have been anyone at the Burrow.”

“Nor anyone who made a Portkey to the Burrow,” Sirius added.

“Well — that’s everyone, then, isn’t it?” Arthur said, looking around. “Everyone who was in on the plan either helped us get here or knew who the real Harry was.”

“Not everyone,” Ginny said. “What about Regulus?”

Regulus, hardly noticeable behind Moody, seemed to appear out of the shadows as his name was mentioned. He blinked slowly at the inquisitive and suspicious stares. “I was well aware of the plan to disguise multiple duelists as Harry. It was my suggestion, in fact. I also, you may recall, am as wanted by the Death Eaters as I am the Ministry. I have no reason to betray the Order’s trust, however thin that trust may be.”

“It’s my fault,” Amos Diggory whispered. He removed his glasses with a shaky hand and wiped his face. “I’m sorry, I —” 

“Dad,” Cedric murmured, “it isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known Yaxley would get through the barriers around our house.”

“He didn’t.” Amos took in a shaky breath. “I never set them up — I — I’m sorry, I got careless.”

“You just forgot to put protective barriers around your home?” James growled, and raised his wand.

“No! No! Nothing like that I — I was alone in my office today.” He stifled a sob and Fiona rubbed his shoulder encouragingly. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I know we aren’t supposed to do that; I know that being alone at all puts us at risk, but I just had to run back in to grab a scroll before I left. I wasn’t supposed to be in there long. Yaxley must have followed me. I don’t know how long he had been watching me, but he caught me by surprise and he — he cast the Imperius Curse.”

“Damn it, Diggory,” Moody snapped. “What other trouble did you cause today, then, besides put Harry and the Ministry at great risk?”

“I — I don’t know. It’s all a sort of blur until the elf woke me. I don’t know what she did, but she made my mind clearer. I feel like myself.”

“Picksie has been practicing,” Picksie said. “Picksie can undo Polyjuice and Imperius and Picksie is working on Confunding and Obliviating next. Picksie is checking Mr and Mrs Diggory for any curses and is removing what she finds.”

“You’re a miracle worker, Picksie,” James said. “I imagine you could get work as a Curse Breaker in no time at the rate you’re going.”

Picksie beamed with pride. “Thank you, James, you is too kind.”

Lily rubbed her eyes with her good hand. “Well, Yaxley cursing the both of you explains why he was there when George and I arrived. I am sorry — I didn’t mean for the spell to go so badly. I just saw him and my first thought was that wherever the Portkey to the Burrow was, I had to destroy it, to keep him from getting to Harry.”

“He tried to Imperius us, too,” George said, “or at least Lily first. He sounded thrilled when we walked in the door — I think he thought I was really Harry for a moment. What did he say? Something about having one over on Snape?”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Lily said. “I was only thinking about killing him or destroying the Portkey before he could get to it.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “With any luck, he’s burned up in there.”

“I think we’ve Harry to thank for the luck that brought us all here,” Sirius said. “To be ambushed and infiltrated and all survive? That’s nothing shy of a miracle.”

“Hear, hear,” Hagrid echoed, and finished off another glass of the brandy. 

Harry’s ears burned. He wanted to protest, to say that they had all done so much more for him tonight, but his scar pulsed with pain. He winced, and distantly heard his father say, “I think we all survived tonight not because of luck, but because we all watched each other’s backs. None of us are here because of our own skill, but because someone else looked out for us.”

Harry clutched his forehead and tried to focus on the conversation around him. Ginny touched his arm.

“Well said.” Molly wiped her eyes with Fleur’s handkerchief. “On that note, I want everyone staying here tonight.”

“Oh —” Fiona shook her head. “Molly, we couldn’t possibly impose. We’ll find something —”

“Nonsense. I won’t hear of it. You and Amos can take Ron’s room. James and Lily, you’ll take Fred and George’s room. Remus and Tonks, you can have Charlie and Bill’s old room. The girls — Fleur, Ginny, Hermione, and Picksie have Ginny’s room — and the boys can all sleep down here in the living room.”

“Are we part of the boys?” Sirius asked, gesturing to Regulus, Hagrid, and Moody. “Just because none of us’ve been married off yet doesn’t mean we’re children.”

“We aren’t children!” George, Fred, and Ron protested at once.

This back and forth, though perfectly good-natured, irritated Harry and exacerbated the pain in his scar. He pushed himself to his feet and walked out into the garden. He was dimly aware of Ginny and several others standing, too. He hoped that they wouldn’t follow.

Harry only made it as far as the end of the chicken coop before pain split his head so badly that he could no longer move. He leaned against the coop to keep himself from toppling over as Voldemort shrieked inside his head.

_“You told me the problem would be solved by using another’s wand!”_

Harry pressed his hand into the weathered wood, tried to count how many splinters dug into his palm. Try as he might, he could not bring the Weasley’s garden back into focus. Instead he saw Ollivander, withered away to almost nothing, stringy white hair long around his gaunt face, writhe on a stone cellar floor. He screamed in pain, and Harry felt bitter sympathy, not just because he was in excruciating pain himself, but because he had been on that end of Voldemort’s wand before.

_“No! No! I beg you, I beg you…”_

_“You lied to Lord Voldemort, Ollivander!”_

_“I did not… I swear I did not…”_

_“You sought to help Potter, to help him escape me!”_

_“I swear I did not… I believed a different wand would work…”_

_“Explain, then, what happened. Lucius’s wand is destroyed!”_

_“I cannot understand… The connection… exists only… between your two wands…”_

_“Lies!”_

_“Please… I beg you… Perhaps… Perhaps there is another way — another wand —”_

But Voldemort was not interested in listening to Ollivander’s excuses. He slashed his wand through the air and the elderly man screamed as the pain of the Cruciatus Curse tore through him.

“Harry?” someone said softly. He felt a hand on his arm, far gentler than any splinters, yet the touch held enough weight to ground him again.

Though his face and hands still felt unusually numb and his head throbbed, when he opened his eyes, the vision of Ollivander was gone, replaced by Lily. “Mum — shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Did you really think you could storm out of there without us following you?”

Harry turned to see his father and Picksie behind him, and Sirius, Remus, and Tonks just a few steps away.

“Is Harry’s scar hurting again?” Picksie asked.

“I’m fine,” Harry said.

“You dueled You-Know-Who,” James said, “and whatever fit you had tonight can’t have been good.”

Lily frowned. “Harry, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “It was just a… nightmare, I guess.”

James put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, I don’t know if there’s anything we can do, but —”

“No,” Harry snapped, “there isn’t anything you can do. Voldemort’s in _my_ head, and I’m the one who has to fight him. There’s no reason for any of this — for any of you to get hurt like this —”

“Harry,” Remus said softly, and stepped forward.

But Harry stepped back, away from his parents and Remus. “All of you could have died — you all almost did, just to protect me, and I can’t —” His scar burned and he heard Ollivander scream again. When his head cleared, he found that his father had pulled him into a tight embrace, and Harry wondered if he had done or said something in another fit.

“It’s okay to not be fine,” James said. “You dueled Voldemort tonight, and it’s okay to be scared. Your mum’s hurt, and it’s okay to be worried.” James let Harry go, but only so he could look into Harry’s eyes. There had once been a time when James would have had to kneel to meet Harry’s green eyes, but they had grown to the same height now. Harry did not have to even tip his head.

“Harry, I’m terrified,” James said, “But we’re all here, and we’re all going to look after each other. You don’t have to be fine.”

Lily stood on her tiptoes to kiss Harry’s forehead. “We’re going to be alright, Harry, as long as we do this together. Can you believe that?”

“No,” Harry said dully. “I don’t think I can.” He thought of the diadem sitting on Hermione’s lap, and how he had no idea how to destroy it. He thought of the cup, hidden away somewhere, and how he didn’t even know where to start. He thought of Voldemort’s pet snake, eating some poor Hogwarts professor in Malfoy Manor, and how it would be impossible to get to the snake without going through Voldemort.

He also didn’t see how his family could help him with any of it. Each one of them had nearly died just trying to get Harry to the Burrow safely. He couldn’t let them follow him on a journey that had nearly killed Regulus and Dumbledore.

“Picksie is thinking everyone should get some rest,” Picksie said. She slipped in between James and Harry and took Harry’s hand. “Picksie is sad, because she misses her home and her Mama, but Picksie is happy, because Harry is safe, and Picksie is safe. Picksie would like Harry to be happy about those things, too, and sometimes, sleeping helps.” Picksie turned and looked up at James, as if she somehow knew that he had been up all night.

Though James tried to stifle it, he could not help but yawn. “Alright, point taken. I think everything will look a little better in the morning.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “Come on inside. Let’s see what blankets we can scrounge up for your sleepover party on the ground floor.”

Picksie hurried inside to gather pillows and blankets. James helped Lily back up the steps, and when she stumbled, Remus caught her — on her injured arm. She let out the sort of curse Harry was used to hearing from Sirius, and muttered a few more as James and Remus helped her inside.

Before Harry could follow, Sirius put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Tonks lounged against the door frame, arms folded across her chest.

“Just wanted to check,” Sirius started, unusually hesitant. “If — well —”

“You’ve got the look like you’re going to run away,” Tonks said. “We know it well. We’ve each done it our fair share of times.”

“Because you know you’ve got the Trace and all,” Sirius said, “and it wouldn’t be safe.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said.

Tonks quirked an eyebrow. “And after you turn seventeen? Will you stay here then?”

“Ginny’s here,” Harry said, which was not much of an answer, but it was the one thing that made him want to stay at the Burrow.

Tonks pursed her lips. “I’m not your mum, Harry, but I am an Auror, for however much longer that may be, and I shouldn’t need to tell you how dangerous it would be for you to go off on your own.”

“Then don’t tell me.” 

He wasn’t planning on running away — not yet at least — but he didn’t need Tonks and Sirius poking around and asking questions. He had never been particularly good at lying. Keeping this secret was not going to be easy.

Once they were inside, Tonks headed straight for Remus, and snatched the glass of whiskey from him.

“I thought we said one drink —”

“We’re staying here tonight.” Remus took his glass back from her. “I imagine our wedding nuptials will wait another night?” He filled another glass and put it in her hand. “Consolation?”

Tonks looked down at the whiskey longingly, but she sighed and handed the glass to Sirius. “It’s fine — not like we were really waiting or anything.”

Harry’s ears grew warm, and Sirius took one look at the glass Tonks had handed him and downed with a speed that rivaled Remus’ drinking habits.

To escape from this terribly uncomfortable conversation, Harry looked around for Hermione and the diadem. He didn’t see Hermione nor Ginny, but Cedric was in the kitchen doorway, talking quietly with his parents and Mad-Eye. 

Harry still had not had a chance to talk with Cedric since Dumbledore had died. He had decided to keep the Horcruxes from his parents, but Cedric had been invaluable to Harry in the hunt already. It was Cedric who had suggested that Voldemort had hidden a Horcrux in Hogwarts, and Harry, as much as he did not want any else to get hurt on this quest, knew that he would not be able to do it without Cedric’s help. 

Cedric noticed Harry staring, whispered something to his mother, and slipped away from his parents. 

“Are you alright?” he asked Harry.

Harry shrugged. “Are you?”

Cedric smiled weakly, then said, “Can we talk somewhere?”

The house itself was crowded, so Harry and Cedric went to the garden. When they had walked far enough away from the Burrow, Cedric let out a slow, deep breath.

“Feels nice to be able to talk to you away from Williamson — finally.” Cedric tried to grin, but neither he nor Harry were in the mood for humour. Cedric’s shoulders slumped and he rubbed the back of his neck. He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes trained on the now dark spot where his family home had once stood.

Finally, he asked, “What happened tonight?”

Harry snorted. “Can you be more specific?”

Cedric smiled wryly. “When you dueled Voldemort — you weren’t yourself, exactly. And your wand did something, didn’t it? And the Horcrux — when I found you in the Tonks’ garden, I think it was trying to kill you.”

“I’ve been in Voldemort’s head before.” Harry tried to sound casual about it. “And I don’t know what happened with my wand — it acted on its own somehow — but I don’t think it’s a surprise that a piece of Voldemort’s soul would try and kill me.”

“Do you have a fit like you did tonight every time you’re in his head?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not exactly conscious when they happen. Does it matter?”

“I think it does. I don’t really know, but…” Cedric rubbed his eyes. “I just wish we knew more about Horcruxes. Then we’d know just what sort of danger this diadem is to us. I think you should be careful about carrying it on your person, for now anyway.”

“I’m not going to risk losing it.”

“I can look after it — or Ron or Hermione can. I’m sure your parents would help, too. Have you told them?”

Harry shook his head.

“Will you tell them?”

“I don’t know that they’ll understand. They’ll want to take care of it for me — but they can’t. You can’t either.”

Cedric laughed, and this time, it was genuine. “But I can help. I think I’m going to head to Grimmauld Place tomorrow, see if I can’t find anything helpful in the Black library.”

“Is it safe?”

Cedric glanced back over his shoulder at the Burrow. Harry wondered who exactly Cedric was afraid would overhear them.

When Cedric was confident they were not being watched, he said, “Things are… changing at the Ministry, and I don’t think it’s all Death Eaters. They’re helping, sure, but it’s every day people who hear these ideas and don't do anything. Right now, the Ministry is one of the Death Eaters’ strongest tools, and the fact that raiding the Order’s Headquarters isn’t a priority in the wake of Dumbledore’s death says something.”

“Just because the Ministry isn’t interested in the Order’s Headquarters doesn’t mean it’s because of Death Eaters.” But even as Harry said it, he had a feeling that both the Ministry and Death Eaters would eagerly raid the Order of the Phoenix’s Headquarters, given the opportunity.

“If the Death Eaters knew about it,” Cedric said, “then they would use the power of the Ministry to raid it. Thicknesse would have already sent Aurors in. Death Eaters are even keeping us off of certain cases, so I don’t see why they wouldn’t use us for their dirty work.”

“What does that mean?”

Cedric bit down on his lip. “Just something Christian said. His sister was close with the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts — Charity Burbage. I didn’t know her, but I guess he and Anne did. She’d just published an article in the _Prophet_ about Muggle-born rights. And then she was gone. Christian’s Chief Captain now, so he set up an investigation but Thicknesse shut him down. No one else seemed interested in arguing about it.”

As Cedric spoke, Harry remembered his dream from the night before, or at least pieces of it. He swallowed hard, and tried to sound confident. “Well, at least I can tell you what happened to that professor.” 

Cedric had regained most of his colour after Fleur’s treatment, but it faded while Harry shared his dream and his vision of what had happened to Ollivander tonight. Harry wasn’t sure which was worse for Cedric — knowing what had happened to Professor Burbage or knowing that Cedric’s fears about the Death Eaters controlling Hit Wizard investigations were true.

When Harry was finished, Cedric picked a third worse thing to ask about. “Do you really think he succeeded? Do you think he made another one?”

Harry swallowed. “I don’t know. Your research didn’t say anything about Horcruxes and goblin silver, did it?”

“I’ll look again and let you know.” Cedric wiped his hand over his face, as if he might rub out his exhaustion. Harry wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to, that this burden of research didn’t need to all be on Cedric, that Hermione would probably love to help him, but he didn’t think that Cedric would listen.

“When are you planning to leave?” Cedric asked. “After you turn seventeen?”

“After the wedding, I guess…” Harry ran his hand through his hair. He had told Sirius and Tonks he was staying because Ginny was here, and it was half-true. “Maybe until Ginny goes to Hogwarts? I don’t want to wait that long, but I think she’ll be furious if I go before.”

“Well — I don’t exactly have a home anymore. My parents have decided to stay with Mad-Eye for now, and probably will be there for a while. Mad-Eye’s pretty furious with my dad, wants to keep his eye on him. The sooner you leave, the sooner I don’t have to stay in Mad-Eye’s weird old house.”

And though Harry very much did not want Cedric to come on this journey, though he very much did not want to put Cedric at risk, he could not see how he would be able to do this without Cedric.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

The waning moon finally appeared above the trees that surrounded the Burrow. Cedric stared up at it and Harry watched as his grey eyes seemed to cloud with an unfortunately familiar expression. Harry had seen it in Grimmauld Place, during that summer the Order had stayed together, and again in the Potter’s kitchen last winter. 

Cedric rubbed his eyes again and the expression faded. “Sorry — it’s just… Do you ever feel like there’s a voice inside your head telling you it won’t matter?”

“No.” 

“No, of course you don't.” Cedric sighed, and Harry re-evaluated his response.

Harry had seen this same anxiety in Cedric when they had dealt with Umbridge’s terrible reign at Hogwarts. Hopelessness was always in reach for Cedric in a way that Harry didn't understand.

“But I know you do. Didn't you say Christian helped you with that?”

“I can't tell him about any of this.” His voice broke halfway through, and his lip trembled, but not a single tear fell. Despite how easy it was for Cedric to fall apart inside, it took a lot more for that pain to be visible.

“Killing Voldemort will end this war, Cedric,” Harry promised. “Whatever happens after that… well, I guess let’s just start small for now.”

Cedric took in a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, as if he could wipe away his own fears and anxiety. “We’re more than halfway there, right?”

Harry took a moment to count Horcruxes. The diary, the ring, and the locket were destroyed. The diadem, the cup, the snake, and whatever else was left in Voldemort — and a possible new Horcrux — were still left.

“Not quite,” Harry sighed, “but I guess we’re off to an alright start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6: The Ghoul in Pyjamas coming January 2021
> 
> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	6. The Ghoul in Pyjamas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Ron have made preparations to leave with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with this one! I hate not having a consistent schedule, but I'm shooting for once-a-month updates. If you want notifications about one-shots or side-stories, subscribe to my Ao3 account, rather than just the series. There's a steamy and dramatic one-shot that got posted last week, if that interests you. And of course, I update twitter and tumblr with the schedule as often as I can.
> 
> The beta team worked super hard on this one, and it had a few re-drafts of some key scenes, thanks to their input. So thank you ageofzero, magic713, ccboomber, aubsenroute, and somebodyswatson for absolutely crushing this one.

When Harry woke, it was still dark. His head throbbed, as it had almost constantly for the past month, but he did not, in this particular moment, feel the terror and dread that normally wrapped around his gut like a vice. Instead, he felt safe as a gentle evening breeze drifted in through the open balcony door, and he breathed in the scent of grass, damp earth, and jasmine.

He turned and, in the dim light from the moon, saw Ginny curled up in the blankets next to him.

Last night, Ginny and Hermione had appeared at Ron’s door and thrown down armfuls of blankets and pillows. When Ron had told Ginny that no, she was under no circumstances allowed to sleep in his room, Ginny had told him to complain about it to Bill.

Apparently, Ginny and Bill had an arrangement. Ginny would sleep on the sofa and let Bill stay in her room with Fleur. Bill would wake her early in the morning and get her back in her room with Mrs Weasley none the wiser. In exchange, Bill had been teaching Ginny a new repertoire of curses and jinxes.

“I’m getting rather good at silent casting,” she had said with a grin as she plopped down next to Ron’s bookshelf.

With George on the sofa, and of course Fred, Sirius, and Regulus staying downstairs as well, Ginny had decided that the best place for her and Hermione to disappear to was Ron’s room.

Ron hadn’t been initially pleased about it, but he had stopped complaining when Harry had gallantly offered Hermione the camp bed next to Ron. He would be happy to take the floor next to Ginny.

As the four of them had gotten settled in for bed, Hermione had pulled the diadem out from a bundle of linens. They had all stared at it for a moment, until Ron had broken the silence.

“What are we supposed to do with it?”

Harry had shrugged, and told them about his duel with Voldemort, how the diadem had nearly killed him, and might have, if Cedric had not saved him. Hermione had dropped it to the floor as if it had suddenly turned hot in her hands. No one had moved to pick it up.

Finally, Harry had said, “You know you don’t have to come with —”

But Hermione and Ron had fiercely restated their plans to join him on the quest. Ginny had put her hand over his and said, “Ron, you should show him what you did.”

Ron had made a face and said, “In the morning. I think we’ve all got enough nightmare oil to burn for one night.”

Now, the darkness was receding slowly, giving way to a grey dawn. Harry closed his eyes, but there seemed to be a stone wall erected between him and sleep. He was comfortable, he was tired, and yet… 

Harry did not think he would be able to sleep well again until this was done, Voldemort in his head or no.

Something chirped beside him and he opened his eyes to see Ginny stirring. She rubbed her eyes and he found the source of the strange noise. Her bracelet was blinking with an orange glow and twittered like a bird song. Ginny didn’t normally wear jewelry, let alone sleep in it.

She pulled it off and sat up with a groan. 

“What is it?” Harry whispered.

“Sorry — didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

Ginny rummaged in the blankets for her wand and, once she had found it, pointed it at the bracelet. “ _Finite_.” The chirping and blinking stopped. Ginny yawned. “Bill and I had a close call last week. He overslept, and Mum was in the kitchen when I woke up. She didn’t see me — or maybe just assumed I was Bill under the blankets. I had to sneak back to my room while she was cooking. Gave him and Fleur an earful. Anyway, he made this, one for each of us. It’s charmed to light up when Mum opens up her wardrobe. It’s not perfect, but it helps.”

“So you have to go?”

Ginny glanced at Hermione, still sound asleep, then out at the greying light. “Mum probably won’t check on us for a while. She knows we all had a long night. Surprised she’s up this early herself.”

Harry wondered if he and Mrs Weasley were having similar trouble sleeping. He had seen Mrs Weasley’s boggart two summers ago, and his own parents’ as well: their children, dead. There was nothing that had happened in the past two years to have mitigated that fear.

Ginny squeezed his hand and nodded towards Ron’s balcony. They moved to where they could talk more freely, without worry of waking their friends.

The Burrow was quiet this early in the morning. There were not even birds calling to each other just yet. The air was heavy and damp, but not yet hot. He and Ginny leaned against the railing and each other. Had there not been a war and a prophecy hanging over them, this morning would be perfect.

“I know you have to go,” Ginny said softly, “but will you stay until my birthday at least?”

Harry, who had already told Cedric and Sirius that he might stay until the first of September, thought this a perfectly reasonable request.

“Since I don’t exactly have an idea where I’m going, I don’t think staying a couple more weeks would hurt,” Harry said.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Not much of a plan, then?”

“Cedric said he’s going back through some books. I’m sure Hermione would love to get her hands on what he’s reading.”

“She did some of her own research. I’m sure she’ll tell you about it — that is, if Mum gives you three a moment alone.”

“Is she going to keep us from getting moments alone, too?”

“Until Bill and Fleur’s wedding, I expect we’ll have plenty of mornings like this.”

“And after?”

“What’s to stop you from slipping down to my room?”

“Hermione and Ron, probably.”

She laughed, and they kissed.

There were lots of things Harry loved about Ginny — her confidence, her indignation, her bravery, her eyes, her smile — but above all, he loved making her laugh. He had grown up in a house full of pranks and witty comments, a house full of laughter. Making Ginny laugh felt like coming home. He didn’t know if that was how to define love, but he knew that he quite liked the feeling, and he wanted to stay with it as long as possible.

Staying until the first of September sounded better and better by the hour.

But the sight of four owls on the horizon reminded Harry that he couldn’t extend his stay at the Burrow any longer than necessary. 

Three were simply their owls returning from their nightly hunt. Pigwidgeon and Errol swooped upward toward the roof of the house, and Hedwig came to rest on Ron’s balcony. She hooted a greeting at Harry and Ginny. The fourth owl soared down towards the kitchen, a rolled up newspaper tied to its talons.

Whatever terrible news was enclosed in that paper could only be stopped by Harry defeating Voldemort.

Harry stroked Hedwig and she stretched her neck up into his hand.

“When I do go,” Harry said, “could you take Hedwig? I don’t think it’ll be safe to travel with her.”

Ginny did not answer right away, even though Harry had not thought the request especially taxing. He had thought Ginny might even like having a reminder of him around while she was away at Hogwarts.

“I guess writing to you is out of the question,” she finally said.

“Maybe I could take the second half of the mirror off of my parents before I go. We could talk without anyone knowing.”

“I would sleep a lot better knowing you’re safe.”

Harry thought that he would, too.

They allowed themselves a few more quiet minutes together, even as the smell of breakfast cooking drifted up from the kitchen, before waking Hermione. It was decided that the walk down the creaky stairs was too risky, so Ginny borrowed Ron’s broom to carry her and Hermione around the outside of the house, avoiding windows, until she reached the window of her own bedroom.

Once they had gone, Ron crawled back into bed and fell asleep without much thought. Harry lied down on the camp bed. It smelled like Hermione still, which Harry found neither comforting nor disconcerting, just unusual. He felt a lump under the pillow and when he dug his hand underneath, he retrieved the diadem. At least it had not tried to kill Hermione in her sleep.

Harry set it aside and wondered if Cedric would be able to help him destroy it without the use of the sword, or if perhaps Hermione had found something in her research. Together, they could all go through Grimmauld Place’s library. Harry hoped that Cedric’s theory was right, that Snape had not shared the location with Voldemort after all.

Though Harry did not remember falling asleep, the sun was streaming brightly through Ron’s window when Mrs Weasley’s knock at the door called them downstairs for breakfast.

The breakfast table was nearly full when they arrived. Fred and Tonks sat next to Lily and James, and Fleur, Ginny, and Hermione were already seated as well. Picksie, Molly, and Remus set out the food. 

“If your bedhead is any indication,” James said as Ron and Harry took their seats, “then I’d say you both slept rather well.”

“My hair always looks like this,” Harry said, and made a show of trying to flatten it out. “Just like yours.” But he supposed there was some truth to James’ statement. Sleeping on the floor beside Ginny had been some of the best sleep he had gotten all summer.

“George alright?” Ron asked, glancing between his mother and Fred.

“He’s resting today,” Molly said. “I wish we could all take the day off, but there’s a good deal of work to be done.”

“Where’s Sirius and Regulus?” Harry asked. “And Hagrid and Bill?”

“Sirius ‘as gone weeth Bill to check ze barriers around ze Burrow, since Hagreed left early for Hogsmeade,” Fleur said. “I ‘ave not seen Regulus zis morning.”

“I’m sure he heard Mum say there was work to be done and decided to nap under the sofa,” Fred laughed.

“He certainly disappeared a good deal while we were at Grimmauld Place,” Remus said as he took his seat beside Tonks.

Ginny yawned and filled her plate. “I think I’ll take a nap under the sofa, too.”

“Not when there’s cutlery to be polished and favours to put together and a garden to get in perfect order you won’t,” Mrs Weasley said.

“Picksie will help,” Picksie squeaked, and climbed into a chair that someone had resized so she could sit at the table. “Picksie loves gardening.”

“We’ll all help, Molly,” Lily said as she adjusted the bandages on her arm. “It’s the least we could do.”

The back door opened, and Bill and Sirius were thoroughly scolded for dragging in mud before Molly pulled up chairs for them.

“Morning everyone,” Bill said cheerily, and kissed Fleur before taking his seat. “Any news about our grand duel last night in the papers?”

Hermione folded up the _Daily Prophet_ she had been reading half-heartedly and handed it to Bill. “It seems,” she sighed, “that they don’t want people knowing just how powerful Voldemort’s gotten.”

Sirius snorted. “You’d think they might want to let the world know Harry Potter dueled and won against Voldemort once again. Might bolster morale — Tonks, aren’t you eating?”

Harry frowned and looked at Tonks, realising suddenly that it wasn’t like her to be so quiet, even early in the morning, and her plate was strangely empty. She even looked pale.

“I’m not very hungry,” she said, but she reached for a piece of toast and nibbled on it without buttering it.

Remus frowned worriedly and Sirius drummed his fingers on the table.

“Too much whiskey last night?” Sirius asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, must be,” she said, but that only confused Harry because he didn’t remember Tonks drinking at all.

“Perhaps we should head home,” Remus said.

With a pang, Harry realised that “home” was no longer Styncon Gardens for Remus. It wasn’t going to be home for any of them for a while.

As Remus stood, he pulled the ring off his finger and handed it to James.

“This is yours, isn’t it?”

“Er — yeah.” James took it. “Last minute stand in. We’ll get you a proper one soon.”

“There’s no need,” Remus said.

Sirius was about to argue, but Tonks cut him off as she also got to her feet. “Sorry to leave so abruptly, Molly. Maybe I’ll have a better appetite next time.”

“You may want to hold off your next time,” Bill said. “If you do come around again, we’ll probably put you to work getting ready for the wedding.”

Tonks’ smile was thin but earnest. “That actually sounds nice.”

Bill and Molly were not exaggerating about putting people to work. There were linens to change, rooms to clean, gnomes to de-gnome, ribbons to match, flowers to plant, chickens to muck — the list never ended. And Harry noticed how Molly never gave him tasks with Ron, Hermione, or Ginny, just as Ginny had predicted.

On Monday, Harry worked with Lily to change all the linens for the Delacours’ arrival. She didn’t comment when Harry and Ron brought down an enormous bundle of linens from upstairs, far more than was necessary for two beds, but she did raise her eyebrows.

They took a short break after hanging the wash for Sirius to take a look at Lily’s arm. Sirius taught and made Harry re-explain the theory behind Burn Healing, but he did not let Harry attempt the spell on Lily’s arm. He did, though, take the time to teach Harry the Hydration Web that Tonks had used the night before. Sirius explained that it was essential to proper Healing, as burns depleted the body’s store of water. 

“When did you learn all of this?” Harry asked. He understood how Sirius had learned the Healing necessary to repair breaks and bites, but these sorts of spells and Anti-Hexes were not the types of wounds one usually got from a werewolf.

“It isn’t our first war, Harry,” Lily said softly. 

“I know you’ve said that Dumbledore didn’t want you to share his plan,” there was a dark edge in Sirius’ voice as he wrapped Lily’s arm in fresh gauze, “but we’re here to help you, Harry. Prophecy be damned, we’re going to help.”

Both gratitude and protest lodged themselves in Harry’s throat. He said nothing, however, and only muttered the incantation to clean the used bandages.

On Tuesday, Harry polished silver with Fleur and listened politely while she chatted about how excited she was for the wedding and how she and Bill would be traveling in France for the honeymoon. It was not exactly more preferable than Sirius’ pressing, but at least Fleur was content with vague grunts of approval.

On Wednesday, James, Harry, and Picksie put the final touches on the garden. They added Flitterby bushes to the porch, de-gnomed the garden, and spruced up the chicken coop. With James’ excellent Transfiguration techniques, it looked as good as new by the time they were done.

James did not bring up Harry’s impending departure throughout the day’s work. The closest he came was mentioning that Molly wanted to put together a small dinner for Harry’s birthday tomorrow evening.

“She said she’d invite Remus and Tonks, of course, and the Longbottoms. Did you want anyone else? Cedric, maybe?”

Harry shook his head. “She doesn’t have to — I mean, it’s okay if we don’t do anything.” He had not had high hopes for his seventeenth birthday, not since lifting the Trace meant the beginning of bearing the full weight of the prophecy.

“Your mum and I said the same. She insisted.” James paused and eyed the chicken coop. He used his wand to add a detail of posies in the paint around the door. “We are going to talk tomorrow,” he finally said, “about all of this.”

Harry appreciated the warning. He did not want to lie, but having the time to figure out exactly what to tell them and how to tell it would help. Maybe he should just tell them everything. Maybe they could help him destroy the diadem, or maybe they would have ideas about where the other Horcruxes were hidden. Like Sirius had said — it wasn’t their first war.

“James,” someone called from the porch. They turned to see Regulus calling to them, hands shading his eyes. “Lily and Molly want your help colour-matching some ribbons. Lily says you have the best eye for it.”

James grinned, all tension from his conversation with Harry invisible at a moment’s notice. “She’s right.”

He disappeared into the house, leaving Harry and Picksie to finish up weeding the flowerbeds, but Picksie insisted that she could perform the work fastest with her own magic, and Harry should go inside to find something else to help with. 

Harry slipped past his parents and Mrs Weasley working in the living room, and went upstairs, thinking he would prefer helping Ron clean his room to matching colours on ribbons. 

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it!” Ron said suddenly, as Harry pushed the door open.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron, standing in the center of the room with a sock in each hand. He realised it was Harry who had walked in and sighed in relief.

“Oh,” and Ron fell back into his bed.

The bedroom was not any cleaner that it had been that morning. Harry and Ron’s trunks were both open, clothes draped on the edges and in piles on the floor. The bedding that Harry and Ginny had been sleeping on was thrown onto the camp bed in a lump, and Hermione was seated there, a book in her lap.

“Weren’t you supposed to be doing something?” Harry asked.

“Linens,” she said, “but you already did that. Ginny and I didn’t think it worth mentioning.” She closed the book in her lap and tossed it into a pile of more books on the floor.

“We were just talking about Yaxley,” Ron said. “D’you reckon he survived?”

Harry shrugged. “Mum and the Diggorys and George all got out, so I don’t see why he couldn’t.”

Ron frowned. “Yeah, Hermione said the same. Still, it’d be nice to think he didn’t.”

Hermione turned over _Spellman’s Syllabary_ in her hands and eyed the spine.

“I’m more surprised he was able to get close to Mr Diggory,” she said distractedly. “The Ministry doesn’t seem to care much at all that he was there when… when Dumbledore was killed.”

Ron sat up and scrounged through his bedside table for a handkerchief, as if he could sense the oncoming tears. 

“What do you think, Harry?” she said suddenly.

“What? About the Ministry once again failing to listen to me about any —”

“I meant about runes. Do you think we’ll need to translate any runes in our hunt for Horcruxes? I suppose it’s possible. Perhaps we should take it anyway.” And she tossed her book into a new pile, then reached for _Hogwarts, A History_.

Harry watched her run her finger through the table of contents before sighing and adding it to her pile of books to carry with them.

Ron stood uncomfortably with a handkerchief in his hand, and his eyes darted furtively between Harry and Hermione. Harry did not think he needed a handkerchief, even as he swallowed down a swell of emotion.

“Are you sure you’ve really thought this through —”

Hermione slammed one of the books on top of the discard pile. Harry didn’t see the title, but he did see Gilderoy Lockhart’s flowing blonde hair on the cover.

“Of course we have, Harry,” she said, rather sharply. “I’ve spent all week packing — if you’re missing some of your wash, it’s probably in my bag. Ron told you what he did, didn’t he?”

“Er —” Ron frowned. “We haven’t talked about it in detail or anything —”

“Show him.”

Ron sighed and got out of bed. He motioned for Harry to follow him onto the landing, where he pointed his wand at the ceiling and brought down a set of stairs. The stairs were not the only thing that came down from the attic.

Harry buried his nose in the crook of his elbow as a terrible smell, much like a sewer drain, wafted down, along with strange, low moans that reminded Harry of the Bloody Baron haunting the Astronomy Tower.

“Is that your ghoul?” Harry asked. “The one who usually rattles the pipes?”

Ron nodded and motioned for Harry to follow him up. Harry’s stomach protested, but he followed Ron just the same.

In the small attic crawlspace, Harry saw the ghoul, moaning, with bright red hair and dressed in pajamas — two features Harry did not think were very common in ghouls and poltergeists. It was as slimy as he expected a ghoul to be, though he did not think the oozing green pustules were a traditional feature of ghouls, at least not to that extreme.

“Are those… your pajamas?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Ron said, then made a face. “I’ll explain — but not here. The smell is getting to me.”

He and Harry went back downstairs, and Ron firmly closed the attic door behind them. The smell lingered, but it was more bearable once they were back in Ron’s room with the open balcony.

“The ghoul will be me while I’m gone,” Ron explained. “He’ll get to live in my room, which I think he’s excited about — at least, he nods a lot between his moans and drools when you mention it. Pretty good, isn’t it?”

Harry blinked at Ron as he took a seat on the floor. “I don’t get it.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione said sharply. “When the three of us don’t return to Hogwarts, you know the Death Eaters — and the Ministry — will come looking for us, and our families.”

“We can’t have all of our families in hiding like yours,” Ron said, a bit more patiently than Hermione, “especially with how big mine is. And they all have jobs and things. So instead, we’re going to put out the story that I’ve got spattergroit, so I can’t go back to school. If anyone investigates, Mum and Dad can show them the ghoul in my bed, covered in pustules. Spattergroit’s really contagious, so they’re not going to want to go near him. It won’t matter that he can’t say anything either, because apparently you can’t once the fungus spreads to your uvula.”

“So your parents are in on the plan?” Harry asked.

Ron made a face. “You know my Mum. But Dad’s in on it. He helped Fred and George transform the ghoul. Mum probably won’t accept that we’ve really gone until we actually Apparate away.”

Harry thought about what he would have to tell his parents tomorrow. Maybe Ron’s approach was right. They could help him, even if they couldn’t know all the details.

“What about you, Hermione?” Harry asked. “What did your parents say when you told them?”

Hermione froze, _Numerology and Grammatica_ about to be tossed aside, but suddenly clutched tightly in her hands. She finally discarded it and said, “I didn’t tell them. They’re Muggles, so they wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh… You don’t think the Death Eaters will leave them alone, do you?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “That’s why I modified their memories. They think they’re called Monica and Wendell Wilkins, and their life’s ambition is to move to Australia. I expect they’re already there by now, and perfectly happy, and perfectly out of Voldemort’s reach, were he to try to track them down.”

“And they don’t know about you leaving school?”

Hermione hesitated again. “They don’t even know they have a daughter, just a very big cat called Crookshanks.” A tear fell down her cheek as she said this, and Ron hastily searched his bed for the handkerchief to hand to her. She thanked him and blew her nose. “Assuming we survive,” she sniffed, “I’ll find them when this is all over,” she said, “and undo the Charm. But, until then…”

Harry sat down on the floor and considered just how much Ron and Hermione were giving up for him. Hermione had a point, that it was very likely their families would be tracked down for information on him. Remus, Tonks, and Sirius were in as much danger as James and Lily. If Harry involved them in this quest, then Voldemort had more opportunities to learn what Harry was doing and stop him.

Harry wondered what would happen to Cedric’s parents if Cedric suddenly stopped showing up at the Ministry. Had Cedric also made preparations for his family? For his boyfriend? Harry didn’t know much about Christian, but he knew that he worked for the Ministry. It would not be hard for the Death Eaters to get to him and the Diggorys, too.

“What we really need to decide,” Hermione said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts, “is where we’re going to go after we leave here. Do we track down the sword? Or another Horcrux?”

Harry had been turning this question over in his mind all summer, and he had not found any answers. “I suppose you haven’t found another way to destroy the diadem,” he said.

“I have been researching that,” Hermione said. She dug through her pile of books that were approved for the journey and fished out a black book with gold binding. 

“I thought you said that you couldn’t find any books on Horcruxes in the Hogwarts library,” Harry frowned. “I know Cedric said he found some in Grimmauld Place, but —”

“There weren’t any in the library,” Hermione said, “but… well, when we were packing to leave Hogwarts, I just… I cast _Accio_ and they came zooming out of Dumbledore’s office. He had removed them from the library, but he didn’t destroy them.”

Ron gaped at her.

“It’s not as if we’re going to use them to make a Horcrux,” Hermione said defensively. “And anyway, I would have thought Dumbledore would make the much harder to get to — and they were library books, after all, so it isn’t stealing —”

“Do you hear us complaining?” Ron said. “I think it’s brilliant. Tell us what you found.”

Hermione sighed and touched the cover of the black tome in her hands gingerly. “This is the one with all the instructions for creating a Horcrux — _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. It’s a horrible book, full of awful, evil magic. If Dumbledore didn’t have it removed until he became Headmaster, Tom Riddle must have got all the instruction he needed from here.”

“Then why’d he ask Slughorn about it?” Ron asked.

“He only approached Slughorn to ask about the danger of making multiple Horcruxes,” Harry said. “I think he’d already killed his dad by then, and turned that ring into a Horcrux, and probably killed Moaning Myrtle to make his diary a Horcrux, too. But he would have needed to know if it was safe to make more.”

“Wouldn’t it have been nice if it wasn’t?” Ron asked. “If he’d just evaporated after making a third or fourth?”

“I’m surprised he’s made it as far as he did,” Hermione said, “especially if Harry’s dream is right, and Voldemort made a new one. This book even warns how dangerous tearing your soul once is. Voldemort’s done it six times now — seven, if Harry’s dream is accurate.”

“Is there any way to put yourself back together?” Ron asked.

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said, “but it’s supposedly more painful than tearing it in the first place.”

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Remorse. There’s a footnote saying you’ve got to really feel sorry for what you’ve done, for the people you’ve killed. Apparently the pain of that alone can kill you. I don’t see Voldemort doing that somehow, do you?”

Ron grunted in annoyance. “Alright, so undoing it’s out. How do we find and destroy them?”

“I don’t know about finding,” Hermione said, “but destroying them isn’t easy. The book warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From what I’ve read, what Harry did to Riddle’s diary was one of the really foolproof ways of destroying a Horcrux.”

“Stabbing it with a basilisk fang?” Harry said with raised eyebrows.

“Good thing we have such a large supply of basilisk fangs,” Ron snorted. “I was wondering what we would do with them.”

“It doesn’t have to be a basilisk fang, exactly. Just something as dangerous. Something that prevents the Horcrux from repairing itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote — phoenix tears. So a Horcrux can’t fix itself. Gryffindor’s sword would work, because it has those same properties now, but we couldn’t just find any goblin-made sword. A cut can be Healed. There are very few substances as deadly as basilisk venom, and they’re all dangerous to travel with. Perhaps if we take the diadem to one of them…”

“Sure, let’s march into Hogwarts and pick up some basilisk fangs,” Ron said. “It’s only more protected than the Ministry.”

“What if we do that?” Harry asked. “I know we’ve said we aren’t going back to school, but what if we just went back?”

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione scoffed, “do you think you’d be able to carry the diadem back into Hogwarts? And traveling on the Hogwarts Express would be foolish. Put yourself in one place that you can’t get away from, at a time and location the Death Eaters can easily predict?”

“Okay,” Harry said, “new plan — we get Ginny to get us basilisk fangs.”

“And how are we supposed to get them from her?”

“The tunnel under the Shrieking Shack. Only Dumbledore and my family know about it —”

“And Snape,” Ron said. “If You-Know-Who thinks we’d go back to Hogwarts for anything — if he knows we’ve got a Horcrux —”

Harry grimaced. “Alright, Hogwarts is out. I’m still going to get Ginny the mirror, though, just in case. If we don’t have any other options, it might be worth the risk.”

“Speaking of Ginny…” Ron frowned. 

Harry braced himself for another warning about hurting Ginny, or even a request that he break up with her before the quest, but it didn’t come.

“I was thinking about how the diadem tried to kill Harry,” Ron said. “Isn’t it like when the diary tried to kill Ginny? How safe is it to travel with this thing?”

Hermione’s hand rested on the pillow on the camp bed, where they had been hiding the diadem. “As long as the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside of it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don’t mean holding it for too long; it’s nothing to do with touching it. I mean close emotionally. Ginny poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You’re in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux.” 

Harry frowned. “I don’t think I’m very dependent on the diadem.”

“I should think,” Hermione said, “that dueling Voldemort directly had an impact. It must have sensed danger.”

“So we destroy all the Horcruxes before we face Voldemort,” Ron said, “not just to make him easier to kill, but so that we don’t accidentally kill ourselves in the process.”

“Which leaves us with perhaps a more pressing question,” Hermione said, “which is where do we look?”

Ron and Hermione both looked to Harry for an answer, but he didn’t have one. He certainly wished that he did, but he couldn’t think of anything from his lessons with Dumbledore that gave him a clue where the other Horcruxes might be.

“Cedric said he would look for more information in the Black family library. He thinks Grimmauld Place might still be safe. We could start there. I know Regulus Black thought that there might be a Horcrux there.”

“But he didn’t find one,” Hermione pointed out. “We ought to look at places that were important to Voldemort. Places important to his childhood, to his rise to power. The orphanage, maybe?” she suggested, but Harry considered the objects Voldemort had chosen — symbols of Hogwarts and of his wizarding legacy. 

“He’ll want something that symbolises his power,” Harry said. “Something like Hogwarts, or his family home. I’ve no idea where Regulus found the locket. Perhaps we should —”

There was a loud bang as Ron’s bedroom door flew open. Harry dove for his wand and Hermione, in an attempt to stand quickly, got tangled in the linens and fell off the camp bed. Ron leapt to his feet, scrambling for a jumper draped over his trunk.

Mrs Weasley stood in the doorway, her brown eyes flashing furiously as she looked over the three of them. “I’m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering, but the Delacours will be here shortly, and there are still presents that need sorting out, and Ronald Weasley, I thought that thisroomwouldbecleanbynow.” She said all of this without taking a breath.

Mrs Weasley took Hermione to sort out the presents alongside a very irritated Ginny, and Harry was escorted to the kitchen where Sirius was washing dishes by hand.

“Ah, Molly,” Sirius said with a tired smile. “Can you ask Lily and James to end their competition for most detailed ribbon decoration? I’d like my wand back to finish up these dishes.”

Mrs Weasley frowned. “I thought I had Regulus helping you.”

Sirius shrugged. “He disappeared as soon as I got the water running.”

Mrs Weasley huffed and left to find Regulus. Putting Regulus Black to work, however, was much like trying to squeeze pus from a Bubotuber Pod, and Harry thought that perhaps Mrs Weasley ought to have learned that by now. He set to work helping Sirius finish off the dishes without complaint. Even though he would not be seventeen until tomorrow, Sirius did not scold him for using his wand to finish up the cleaning. It was much more efficient, and they were able to not only have the dishes washed but the table set with plenty of time for them to clean themselves up before the Delacours arrived.

Arthur Weasley went to meet the Delacours at the point their Portkey would arrive, and the Weasleys and Potters gathered on the porch to greet the Delacours as they arrived. Lily attempted to flatten Harry’s hair, and Harry asked why she never bothered trying to flatten James’.

“He’s taller than I am,” she said.

“So am I.”

“Yes, but you weren’t always.”

“In Harry’s defense,” James said, “you were taller than me when we were twelve, but I don’t think you had much interest in my hair then.”

“And yet,” Sirius interrupted, “you still somehow managed to spend an hour in front of the mirror every morning trying to style it in a way to get her attention.”

Mr and Mrs Delacour arrived with their youngest daughter, Gabrielle, who Harry had met briefly at the Triwizard Tournament. Gabrielle, two years grown since then, looked even more like Fleur and her mother. They all had the same silvery hair, sharp cheeks, and graceful walk. Mr Delacour, however, walked beside his wife less like a leaping gazelle and more like a trundling hippopotamus. He was shorter and rounder than his wife and daughters, with a dark and pointy beard and a candid smile. He greeted Molly first with a kiss on each cheek, then did the same to Lily, catching her off guard. He stopped and looked at Ginny.

“Fleur told us that Bill ‘ad only one seester and here I see two!”

“ _Non, Papa_ ,” Fleur laughed. “ _Voici Lily Potter et voici James et Harry. Oh! Et Sirius Black._ ”

“ _Enchanté!_ ” Mr Delacour heartily shook each of their hands. “Ve have hear’ much of your duels against _Celui-Dont-On-Ne-Doit-Pas-Prononcer-Le-Nom_ , and Fleur has spoken very vell of you all.”

Sirius grinned and said something in rapid fire French that Harry thought must be nonsense, but Mr Delacour threw his head back and laughed. 

“ _C’est vrai!_ ” he said, and wiped a tear from his eye. “ _C’est vrai_.”

Harry could not keep up with them, and simply stared as Sirius and Delacour conversed animatedly.

James groaned. “We’ll never get Sirius back.”

“You would think he’d be out of practise,” Lily said.

“He’s only doing it to show off because Regulus can’t show him up —”

Lily elbowed him as Mrs Delacour approached and gave them each a kiss on the cheek.

The black cat watched from a window inside, and Harry hoped that Regulus was not too uncomfortable. The Delacours were not in the Order, and though they were certainly trustworthy, Regulus Black was still a wanted criminal. He would need to remain a cat in the Weasley’s household until the last of the wedding guests had gone, including the Delacours.

Mrs Delacour praised the house and all the hard work Fleur said they had gone to. Mrs Weasley insisted that it was nothing at all, and Ron and Ginny exchanged glances that bordered on murderous.

The Delacours were pleasant guests, and added more laughter to an already lively household. The only real downside, Harry and Ron discovered that first night, was that since Gabrielle was staying with Fleur in Ginny and Hermione’s room, Ginny and Hermione could no longer sneak upstairs. Somehow, Harry found the camp bed far less comfortable than the floor had been.

And, for some reason, he began dreaming of a small town somewhere in the German countryside.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

On the morning of the thirty-first of July, Harry woke with the dawn, as he had each morning before, only this time, he had no desire to fall back asleep. He excitedly rummaged for his wand and whispered, “ _Accio Glasses_.”

His glasses slammed into his face, poking him in the eye, but he grinned regardless. He could do magic, and there was no Trace to tell the Ministry what he was up to.

Harry spent his morning quietly practicing sets of mundane Charms while Ron slept. He removed books from Ron’s shelves and put them away. He changed the colour of his pyjamas. He unpacked his trunk and re-folded all of his clothes. This particular spell was rather time consuming, but he hoped with practice he would become as efficient at it as his parents were. 

When Ron did finally wake up properly, he rummaged under his bed for a moment before retrieving a small box wrapped in red paper and gold ribbon.

“Happy seventeenth birthday,” Ron said.

There were two smaller packages inside the one box, and Harry, who had expected something Quidditch-related and was prepared for the sting of his lost Firebolt, was instead surprised to unwrap two Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products.

The first was a round tin labeled “Bruise-Removal” and the other a small satchel labeled “Sugar Hexes.”

“Wow, thanks, Ron.”

“I know it’s not much — but I figured you might want stuff you can carry when we go wherever it is we end up. And I remembered how helpful having those trick sweets was when we were stuck in Umbridge’s office, but if —”

“I think it’s brilliant, Ron. Thanks.”

There were gifts throughout the day. Hermione met him on the stairs and gave him a pocket Sneakoscope. At breakfast, the Weasley twins had a set of prank merchandise for him, Bill and Fleur gifted him a razor that they claimed did most of the work on its own, and Mr and Mrs Weasley gave him a jumper with a Snitch knit into the front that he put on immediately, despite the warm summer day.

Picksie’s gift was the breakfast itself, particularly the eggs that burst into feathers when Harry’s fork touched them. Sirius fell out of his chair from laughing so hard, and Harry thought that the laughter at breakfast was actually the best gift he could have gotten that day.

The small dinner that Mrs Weasley had promised turned out much larger than Harry would have liked. Dinner was moved into the garden to accommodate all the guests in the house, in addition to Charlie who had just arrived that afternoon from Romania, and Mr and Mrs Longbottom who came with Neville.

Mrs Weasley set the cake down in the center of the table in the garden. It was a Snitch about as big as Harry’s head, decorated in gold frosting that glittered in the twinkling fairy lights and lanterns that illuminated their outdoor dinner. He thanked her profusely, not entirely sure how else to express his gratitude, not just for the birthday but for everything the Weasleys had done for him and his family this week.

She smiled and promised him it was no trouble at all, but her worried eyes flicked to the gate. Mr Weasley was not yet home from the Ministry, despite the late hour. Though the evening carried on without him, the weight of his absence was felt in the lulls in conversation and gazes that drifted towards the edge of the garden. 

“Forgive us if we’re a bit partied-out,” Mrs Longbottom said, and handed Harry a box about the size of his History of Magic textbook and about as heavy.

“We just had the whole family over last night for Neville’s seventeenth,” Mr Longbottom explained. “But we didn’t want to miss your seventeenth.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything —”

“Nonsense,” Mrs Longbottom interrupted. “You’re practically family, Harry. I remember when your parents stayed with us for a few months just before you were born, around the time the Ministry sent me home on leave for my own pregnancy. Your mother and I gave James quite the run around with our fickle appetites and several false labor alarms.”

“Neville tells us you’re interested in being an Auror after you finish at Hogwarts,” Mr Longbottom said. “We thought you might like something to help with that.”

Harry pulled back the wrapping to reveal a book bound in purple leather and gold leaf. The lettering on the spine read, “A Compendium of Codes of Conduct for the Career Auror.”

“When it comes time to start your Auror training,” said Mrs Longbottom, “let us know. I’m sure one of us will be happy to take on mentoring for you.”

“And the other will take Neville,” Mr Longbottom said with a smile.

Neville choked on the sip of water he had been in the middle of swallowing. “Dad — I’m not going to be an Auror. I only got four O.W.L.s.”

Mrs Longbottom kissed his cheek. “If you want to be an Auror, we can teach you anything you need to know, no matter what your exams say. But you know we’ll be proud of you no matter what you decide on. You can be anything you’d like, anything at all.”

Neville’s face turned bright red. 

Harry thanked them for the gift, but he wondered if it would be as useful as they had hoped. He would not be finishing his education at Hogwarts, and he had not considered what that would mean for his future, nor Ron and Hermione’s. Were they also giving up dreams by abandoning their education?

It was tempting to simply disappear, to leave his friends and set out on this quest alone. Ron and Hermione could return to Hogwarts, could pursue the futures they wanted without interruption. But when he thought of all that they had already done for him, he knew it would be wrong to ignore their sacrifice. For better or worse, his friends were committed to seeing this through to the end.

The gate creaked as it opened, and Mrs Weasley turned towards it immediately, but it was not Mr Weasley who had arrived. Instead, Remus and Tonks came up the path and waved to the party.

Though Harry already thought that there were too many people here, he felt a warmth in his chest at the sight of them. He had not realised just how much of his mind had been devoted to worrying about them until that strain lifted. His entire family was present, and a part of him could relax.

Even as relief filled him, guilt twisted in his gut as he thought of the two-way mirror. 

Just yesterday, while everyone had been preparing for the wedding, he had snuck into his parents room and stolen his parents’ half out of James’ trunk. He’d given it to Ginny, and made sure to give his half to Hermione, so she could pack it with everything else she had been preparing for their trip. Once he was gone, his parents would discover the mirror’s absence, and there would be nothing they could do about it. They would have no way to know that Harry was safe.

And Harry would have no way to know that they were safe.

Tonks gave Harry a tight hug when she saw him. “Wotcher, Harry! Happy birthday!” 

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Are you feeling better?”

“What? Oh — yes, mostly. It comes and goes.”

“You put away nearly five helpings of potatoes and gravy at dinner last night,” Remus said, “but this morning you could hardly finish your toast. It comes and goes in some strange extremes.”

Tonks’ cheeks flushed. “Yes, well, I feel just fine tonight. Let’s say hello to everyone, shall we?”

Tonks hurried to greet the Longbottoms, but Remus stopped and hugged Harry. “Happy birthday, Harry.” He pulled a slender box from the pocket of his robe. “Have your parents given you their gift yet?”

“Er — no. I think they want to talk about… you know. Everything.”

Remus tucked the box back into his cloak. “Then ours will wait, too. They go better together.”

“You shouldn’t have —”

“It isn’t much,” Remus promised, “but it’s from Sirius and the cat, too. We wanted to do something for you. Seventeen’s an important year, after all.”

Harry didn’t care for the way “Seventeen’s an important year” settled into his gut. This year was important, for a lot of reasons, and Harry found himself wishing that it wasn’t.

“I suppose we should start without Arthur,” Mrs Weasley said as she pulled up seats for Remus and Tonks. “I’m sure he was only held up — oh!”

A silver spark crossed the gate and darted toward the table until it took the shape of a scampering weasel. It sat up on its hind legs and announced, “All is well. Minister for Magic coming with me.”

James and Lily looked at each other.

“Should we go?” Harry asked. 

“He did say all was well,” Sirius murmured. “Maybe he thinks this is worth Scrimgeour knowing where we are.”

Remus swallowed hard. “Tonks and I should probably —”

“No,” Lily snapped. “If we’re staying, you’re staying.”

“It’s not like Scrimgeour doesn’t know about us,” Tonks said, and twisted the wedding band on her finger. 

In the end, the only person who left the table was the black cat who wove between feet and chairs and scampered into the house just as Mr Weasley and Rufus Scrimgeour appeared at the gate.

Scrimgeour leaned heavily on his cane as he and Arthur approached. His hair still stuck out from his head, giving him the appearance of a lion, but it seemed thinner and greyer. His limp, too, seemed more pronounced. But his cold, critical gaze was unchanged as it passed over the gathering, until it slowly widened in surprise as he took in the Longbottoms and the Potters.

Frank and Alice stood, but James and Lily remained firmly in their seats as Scrimgeour reached the table.

“Sorry to intrude,” Scrimgeour said, “especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party.” His eyes flickered between Harry and Neville, as if he was unsure which of them the party was in honour of. He settled on, “Many happy returns to the two of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Neville said politely, as Harry offered a stiff, “Thanks.”

“I came to speak with Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger,” Scrimgeour said, “but as coincidence would have it, I also have business with Mr Neville Longbottom and Mr Harry Potter. Quite convenient to find you all together.”

“What sort of business?” James asked, voice as cold and stiff as Harry’s had been.

“I’m here to read the will of Albus Dumbledore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated. Chapter 7: The Will of Albus Dumbledore will be released in February.


	7. The Will of Albus Dumbledore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufus Scrimgeour reads Dumbledore's will; Harry's family makes a final plea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been dreaming about the finer details of this chapter since I rewrote The Philosopher's Stone and Harry's 11th birthday. It's such a joy to finally get share his 17th with you.

Harry promised his parents that he would be fine. He was seventeen, after all, and if the Minister for Magic needed to speak with him, then he did not need his parents with him. He wanted their support, certainly, and wouldn’t mind reliving that Christmas when he and his parents had teamed up against the Minister, but he wanted to — needed to — do this on his own.

And anyway, he wasn’t entirely alone. His friends were crammed onto the sofa in the Weasley’s sitting room with him. Harry glanced at Ron, who was trying and failing to stabilise the stack of blankets that had occupied his seat, since the sofa had been George’s temporary bed for the last week. Hermione stared directly at Scrimgeour, as fiercely as Lily might have, and Neville struggled to extricate a pillow that had been wedged between his back and the sofa’s. It was not successful and he gave up, deciding instead to stare curiously at the Minister’s shoes.

Rufus Scrimgeour sank into the armchair that Mr Weasley usually sat in. He leaned heavily on his cane, and hos face was gaunt and tired, far more worn than it had been at Christmas. The past six months had not been kind to the Minister for Magic.

“I have some questions for the four of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually,” Scrimgeour said. “If the rest of you would wait upstairs, I’ll begin with Mr. Weasley.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Harry said quickly. Not only would he not leave his friends, they were wedged rather tightly into the sofa. He did not want to wriggle his way out of it.

“You may speak to us together,” Hermione said, “or not at all.”

Scrimgeour surveyed the four of them. He was a man who chose his battles carefully. Peace, however, won out for the moment, and Scrimgeour shrugged. 

“Very well, then,” he said and reached into his coat. “As I said, I am here to read Albus Dumbledore’s will.”

Neville frowned and looked up from the Minister’s shoes. “Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why did you wait so long?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione said in a voice much cooler than she usually used when explaining things to Neville. “They wanted to examine whatever he’s left us.”

“Wait,” Neville frowned, “you mean Dumbledore’s left us things? But —”

“You had no right to do that,” Harry interrupted and glared at Scrimgeour. “Whatever he’s left us —”

“I had every right,” said Scrimgeour, and removed a large mokeskin pouch from his robes. “The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will —”

“That law,” Hermione said, “was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts, and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased’s possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?”

Scrimgeour answered Hermione’s question with another question. “Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?”

Hermione snorted. “No, I’m hoping to do some good in the world.”

Ron did his best to disguise his sudden laughter in a cough. When he had control again, he asked, “Well, Minister, have you decided to let us have our things now?”

Though Scrimgeour himself seemed to have grown thin and weary, his sharp gaze had not dulled. His lion-like eyes turned on Ron, but not to answer Ron’s question. “Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?”

Ron blinked. “Me? Not — not really. It was always Harry who…”

Too late, he realised Hermione and Harry were glaring daggers at him. Scrimgeour pounced.

“If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions — his private library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects — were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?”

“I dunno.” Ron scratched behind his ear, and his elbow knocked into Harry’s shoulder. “I… when I say we weren’t close… I mean, I think he liked me…”

“You’re being modest, Ron,” Hermione said. “Dumbledore was very fond of you.”

“Er —”

Scrimgeour was no longer listening, however, as he opened the drawstring pouch and withdrew a scroll. He cleared his throat and read, “‘The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’... Yes, here we are… ‘To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.’”

Scrimgeour reached into the drawstring pouch once more and pulled out a small silver cylinder that fit in the palm of his hand.

Harry was not sure he had ever seen anything like the device as Scrimgeour passed it to Ron. Ron turned it over in his hands and stared at it. He risked a glance at Harry, but Harry did not have any answers for Ron.

“It’s a very valuable object,” Scrimgeour said, his critical gaze focused entirely on Ron’s reaction. “It may even be unique. It has the ability to remove and restore light. Certainly it is of Dumbledore’s own design. Why would he have left you an item so rare?”

When Ron shook his head in disbelief, Scrimgeour pressed on.

“Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students, yet the only ones that he remembered in his will are you four. Why should —”

“Just us four?” Harry asked. “No one else?”

Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry. “Only you four. Is there someone else you think he should have remembered?”

Hastily, Harry shook his head. “No — no one comes to mind. I just thought… er — perhaps he would have left my parents something.”

But Harry was not thinking of his parents; he was thinking of Cedric. Dumbledore had known that Harry had shared the prophecy and the quest with Cedric Diggory, just as he had shared it with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. Why had Dumbledore decided to leave Cedric out?

Scrimgeour returned to the will and read, “‘To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.’”

From the pouch, Scrimgeour withdrew a small book with a worn cover and dog-eared pages. Hermione ran her fingers over the faded cloth stretched across the front. It was fraying in the corner and under her thumb. Two tears fell onto the book and she hastily wiped them away.

“Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?” Scrimgeour asked. 

Hermione dried her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. “He… he knew I liked books.”

“But why that particular book?”

Harry had the same question. Hermione loved to read, but a book of children’s fairytales hardly seemed the sort of thing she would be interested in, and Dumbledore must have known that.

“I don’t know. He must have thought I would enjoy them.”

“Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages with Dumbledore?”

“No,” she sniffed. “And if the Ministry hasn’t found any hidden codes in this book, then I doubt that I will.”

Neville patted Hermione’s arm, then froze as Scrimgeour read his name.

“‘To Neville Franciscus Longbottom, I leave a phoenix tail feather, as a reminder of his exceptional loyalty to his friends, and that we will always grow from our failures.’” Scrimgeour retrieved a red and gold feather from the pouch that shimmered, even in the dim light of the sitting room.

Neville stared at it in awe, frozen until Hermione gently nudged him, and he reached for it.

“It’s warm,” he said in surprise.

“It’s an incredibly valuable gift,” Scrimgeour said. “It has many uses, most commonly in wand cores.” He looked at Harry as he said this.

Harry did his best to keep his face neutral, and his emotions calm as he had been taught in his Occlumency lessons, but his mind buzzed with this information.

It was most likely a feather from Fawkes, whose feathers had also been given to make Harry and Voldemort’s wands. To give this feather to Neville, who had so nearly been marked the way Harry had been… 

“Are you fond of phoenixes, Mr Longbottom?” Scrimgeour asked, but he kept his gaze on Harry.

“Er, no — I mean, not exactly.” Neville continued staring at the feather, entranced. “I fail a lot though.”

Scrimgeour examined Neville, but decided there was nothing more to be gained there. He reached into the pouch almost eagerly this time, as he read the next line.

“‘To Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.’”

He pulled out a velvet cloth and carefully unwrapped it to reveal a golden Snitch, silver wings fluttering in his grasp.

Harry stared at it, not entirely comprehending. He had hoped it would be something that could destroy a Horcrux, or perhaps even a Horcrux, though he did not think something like that would have been able to slip past the Ministry.

“Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?” Scrimgeour asked.

Harry shrugged. “For the reasons you just read out, I suppose. To remind me what you can get if you persevere and whatever it was.”

“You think this is a mere symbolic keepsake, then?”

Harry looked Scrimgeour in the eyes. “What else could it be?”

“I’m the one asking the questions,” Scrimgeour snapped. “I noticed that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch.”

Harry looked down at his jumper, where Mrs Weasley had knitted in a Snitch. “Yeah, bit weird, isn’t it? Dunno why people keep giving me Snitch-related things. My Dad’s even called me Snitch since I was about four. Can’t imagine why.”

“Perhaps it’s all been a secret encoded message from Dumbledore,” Hermione scoffed. “If we cut open your cake, we’ll find secret instructions inside.”

“I don’t believe there is anything hidden in your cake,” Scrimgeour said, “but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object.”

Harry understood, and it was why he had not reached for the Snitch yet. Snitches had flesh memories, and it would remember and react to Harry’s hand. Perhaps Dumbledore had charmed it to react in a particular way, perhaps there was a clue inside…

“Take it,” Scrimgeour said.

Harry swallowed, wishing he had a way to take the Snitch with the sleeve of his jumper, or some way to disguise it to Scrimgeour, but he came up with nothing. He reached for the Snitch, and as his fingers brushed the golden ball, the silver wings stilled and the Snitch fell limp in his hand.

Harry watched Scrimgeour’s eager expression fade into disappointment.

“That was dramatic,” Harry said.

Ron, Hermione, and Neville laughed. Scrimgeour scowled.

“That’s all then, is it?” Hermione asked, and tried to unstick herself from her very tight position between Harry and Neville.

“Not quite,” Scrimgeour said. “Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter.”

Harry’s hand tightened around the Snitch and his heart raced. “What is it?”

“The Sword of Godric Gryffindor.”

“Do you have it?” he asked, and tried not to sound eager.

“The Sword is not Dumbledore’s to give away,” Scrimgeour said. “The Sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artefact, and as such, belongs to the Wizarding World as a whole, and, in any case, the Sword is currently missing. It has not been recovered since the Death Eaters’ attack on Hogwarts. Now why do you think, Mr. Potter, that Dumbledore would leave you the Sword of Godric Gryffindor?”

Harry knew exactly why Dumbledore had left it to him. He wished the Ministry had at least brought him the Sorting Hat. Maybe he could try to summon the Sword as he had in the Chamber of Secrets and destroy the diadem with it.

“I dunno,” Harry said, “maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall.”

“This is not a joke, Potter!”

“No, it isn’t.” Harry very carefully kept his voice cool, and refused to meet Scrimgeour’s temper. “It wasn’t a joke when I told the world that Voldemort came back. It wasn’t a joke when my parents came to the Ministry and told them how Umbridge was torturing her students. It wasn’t a joke when I told you that Yaxley was there the night that Dumbledore died, helping the Death Eaters, but it didn’t seem to damage his position in the Ministry, did it? And it wasn’t a joke when your Hit Wizards wanted to look into the disappearance of Hogwarts’ Muggle Studies professor but were shut down. People are dying because the Ministry is busy stripping down Deluminators and children’s books, rather than investigating the real problems and helping people. If you want to know why Voldemort’s back and how to stop him, start with your own office.”

Scrimgeour’s upper lip curled into a very thin snarl. “You go too far!” he shouted, and drew his wand. Harry stood too, and his chest met the end of Scrimgeour’s wand, where it singed a hole right into Mrs Weasley’s lovingly crafted Snitch.

“Oi!” Ron said, and he and Neville stood, fumbling for their wands, but Harry held his hands out.

“Don’t — do you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?”

Scrimgeour huffed something between a growl and a laugh. “Remembered you’re not at school, have you? Remembered that I am not Dumbledore who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It’s time you learned some respect!”

“It’s time you earned it.” Harry had hardly finished his sentence when the door to the sitting room opened suddenly, and several people fought to get through the door, starting with Remus, wand drawn. Sirius, Lily, James, Tonks, Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Mr and Mrs Longbottom were all right behind him.

“We heard shouts,” Mrs Longbottom said, glancing between Neville and the Minister.

“Raised voices,” Mr Weasley echoed.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Remus asked, though his eyes were on Scrimgeour, not Harry.

“It — it was nothing,” Scrimgeour said, and stepped away from Harry. He looked at the hole he had made in Harry’s jumper and swallowed down his temper. With his anger gone, he simply looked weary, and Harry almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“You seem to think,” Scrimgeour said slowly, “that the Ministry does not desire what you — what Dumbledore — desired. We ought to be working together.”

“I think I’ve been pretty clear about what I desire and what the Ministry desires,” said Harry. His hand clutched the Snitch hard enough that it dug into his hand, and the scars on the back of his hand stretched.

Scrimgeour took a long, measured look at Harry, then surveyed the cluster of grown ups who crowded the doorway. 

Finally, he said, “Nymphadora Tonks — er, Lupin, is it?”

“Just Tonks is fine,” she said, voice unusually faint.

“A word, before I go.”

It was not a request. Tonks bit down on her lip and jerked her head in agreement. As Scrimgeour pushed past the Longbottoms and the Weasleys, Remus moved to follow, but Tonks shook her head and went alone with Scrimgeour.

Suddenly, Harry was swarmed by his parents. Lily and James searched him for injuries; they asked what had happened and if he was hurt, talking over each other and all at once. Sirius was no better, examining the hole that had been burned into his jumper and asking questions without waiting for the answers.

Harry was just fine, though. Scrimgeour’s temper had not hurt him; it had only ruined a perfectly good jumper. 

There was not much Harry and his friends could do to keep their gifts from Dumbledore a secret, so they each shared what they had been given. None of them, however, mentioned the sword.

Mrs Longbottom ran her finger along the edge of the phoenix feather, much like Neville had done when he had received it.

“It is beautiful,” Mr Longbottom murmured. “And a powerful magical conduit, if nothing else.”

Remus thumbed through Hermione’s book, but he kept looking up from the pages to the door Tonks had disappeared through. “It’s an unusual choice,” he finally said, and returned it to her. “I didn’t know Dumbledore had an interest in children’s stories.”

“It’s certainly a practical gift,” Mrs Weasley said of the Deluminator.

“He probably really wanted you to remember him,” Mr Weasley offered, “giving you such a unique and personal item.”

Ron did not look particularly thrilled about this, and eyed the feather Neville’s parents were still examining.

Lily turned the Snitch over in her hands, squinting to find some sort of catch or mechanism to open it. It fluttered in her hand, and stilled when Harry took it from her.

“You said it was from your first game?” Sirius asked.

Harry nodded. “That’s what Dumbledore said.”

James raised an eyebrow. “And? Did you try it?”

“Er —” Harry had not wanted to open the Snitch in front of Scrimgeour, certainly, and he was equally afraid to open it in front of his parents. But he supposed there was no way of hiding it. His father, of course, would remember exactly how Harry had caught his first Snitch.

“What do you mean?” Lily asked, glancing between James and Harry.

“My very first Quidditch match,” Harry said, “I didn’t catch the Snitch with my hands.”

Lily blinked. “You mean that this is the Snitch that you nearly swallowed?”

Everyone in the room paused their conversation and turned to watch. Harry hesitated, and finally decided that the Snitch was not going to suddenly reveal the Horcrux quest in one fell swoop — hopefully. He lifted the Snitch and pressed it to his lips.

But the Snitch did not open. Harry was both relieved and frustrated. What had Dumbledore wanted him to gain from this Snitch?

“Hold on — Harry,” Sirius gestured to the Snitch. “There’s writing on it.”

Harry squinted and turned the small object over in his hands. Sirius was right. There, engraved in the Snitch, in Dumbledore’s own handwriting, he read, “‘ _I open at the close._ ’”

“What does that mean?” Lily frowned.

Harry looked to Hermione for help, but she shrugged her shoulders.

Dumbledore had left each of them not with help or answers, but with a new puzzle, as if the quest they had been given was not enough. Harry resisted the urge to toss the Snitch out the window. He was so tired of more riddles and no answers. The Snitch would have served him better as a reminder of perseverance and whatever else Scrimgeour had said.

“I think they’re all quite special,” Mrs Weasley finally said. “It was kind of Dumbledore to leave each of you something.” She returned the Deluminator to Ron and took Harry’s singed jumper. She folded it up in her arms. “Harry, I can mend this for you after the wedding. Why don’t we head back into the garden for —”

She stopped as Tonks returned to the sitting room, and Harry was startled to see that her pink hair had returned to brown, like her mother’s. Her eyes had shifted to grey, too, instead of the hazel they had been when she arrived.

“What’s happened?” Remus asked.

Tonks smiled thinly. “I’ve been sacked. It’s fine — really, it’s about what I expected.”

“Hippogriff shit,” Sirius snarled. “They can’t —”

“They can,” Mrs Longbottom said quietly. “Though I wouldn’t expect Scrimgeour to do something like that. Some others in the office, perhaps, but not Scrimgeour.”

“He didn’t seem very happy to do it.” Tonks shrugged. “Though I guess that doesn’t make it better.”

“I’m sorry,” Lily apologised. “I shouldn’t have asked you and Remus to stay.”

“I’m sure it would have happened eventually. Or something would have happened.” Tonks fidgeted with the wand at her side. “Er — should we get back to the party?”

But no one seemed in the mood for much celebration. Dinner was quiet, and dessert a muted affair. The Longbottoms did not stay long, and the Delacours retired early. 

Harry had hoped that he, Ron, Hermione, and Neville would all get a chance to discuss their gifts, but as the Longbottoms disappeared through the Weasley’s gate, and Mrs Weasley asked Ron to help her clean up, it seemed that the chance was less and less likely.

“Forgive us for not helping, Molly,” James said as he gathered up an armful of dishes, “but we would like to give Harry his gift before Remus and Tonks leave.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, and took the dishes from him.

Harry followed James and Lily upstairs to the room they were borrowing from Fred and George during their stay. It was still packed with a few boxes of unfinished Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Between that, the bed, and James and Lily’s trunks it was a tight squeeze for the three of them, plus Remus, Tonks, Sirius, and Picksie.

Once upon a time, Harry had wished that his family was as big as Ron’s, and had not cared for how empty his house had felt compared to the Burrow, bursting with life. Sirius and James so often described their family as “pack,” which was perhaps the only allusion to werewolves that did not make Remus tense. Their pack had grown a good deal these last few years, and even though they had lost Mellie, Harry was overwhelmed both by their support and the interrogation that he knew would follow.

On Harry’s eleventh birthday, his family had taken him into the sitting room and had told him the story of how Voldemort had tried to kill him when he was just a baby. Hagrid had been there, because it was Hagrid who had found Harry, James, and Lily in the wreckage of Voldemort’s attack. Tonight, it was pack only, and it was Harry’s turn to tell them that he had to kill Voldemort.

Sirius sat on the bed, legs folded up underneath him, and Harry took a tentative seat on one of the boxes. It did not explode underneath him, which was a good sign. Picksie sat beside him, and Tonks and Remus stayed standing by the door as James dug through his trunk.

“You have a wand, dear,” Lily reminded him as she took a seat on her trunk. 

James grunted and dug his wand out of his robes. He Summoned a small black gift box, no bigger than his palm, from his trunk. He handed the box and his wand to Lily, and she very carefully wove a golden ribbon around the box.

“I know we normally do more than one gift,” Lily said, “but we had to pack light, so we grabbed the most important one.”

She handed the box to Harry as James sat down, and Remus handed him the slender box he had nearly given to Harry before dinner.

Harry started with the gift from his parents. He had been expecting a pocketwatch from his parents, and was prepared for something rather expensive, perhaps something gold plated like Ron’s, or something charmed to mimic the phases of the moon like his father’s.

Instead, the silver pocketwatch nestled in the tissue was scratched and dented. The front of the watch was intricately decorated in bay leaves and flowers inlaid in gold. He lifted it out of the box and turned it over. “Harry Potter” was engraved on the back above a relief of intertwined olive branches, though the “r” at the end of “Potter” was nearly worn away. When he opened it, he found a plain watch face inside. Roman numerals decorated the edges, and a smaller circle to mark the seconds was nestled at the bottom of the watch. The second hand did not tick at all, though Harry could hear the sound of the gears working inside the watch. The initials “H. H. P.” were engraved on the inside of the cover, which Harry thought odd. It was almost his initials, but not quite.

“Thank you,” he said, and hoped it sounded sincere. He was grateful, just not sure why it was so different from what he had expected.

“It was your great-grandfather’s,” Lily said. “We thought, well, what better pocketwatch than the one that belonged to your namesake.”

“More than that,” James added, “we named you after him for a reason — and not just because your grandfather’s name was Fleamont.”

Harry shuddered to think that he could have been “Fleamont James Potter” and decided he was much more grateful to have Henry Potter’s watch.

“Your great-grandfather,” James continued, “lived during a time not so different from ours, when Grindelwald rose to power. He had already lost standing in the Ministry, for trying to convince wizards to fight in the Great Muggle war that marked the first half of the century. And when war broke out in the 1930s, amongst both Muggles and wizards, he fought to protect those in danger.”

“We had a lot of plans for your seventeenth birthday,” Lily said, “and one of them was to give you the Invisibility Cloak.” She paused to glance sideways at James. “We were supposed to tell you how your great-grandfather used the Cloak to smuggle people out of Poland, people who were threatened by those in power — both the Muggle-born witches and wizards that Grindelwald hated, and the Jewish and Romani people who were threatened by the Muggle government. The Cloak became a powerful tool, used to help people who were in danger, to save lives. It isn’t just for getting into and out of trouble at school.”

“A wand can be used for both fun and duels,” Sirius said.

“Besides,” James said, “Harry’s been very responsible with the Cloak.”

“You didn’t have to pull him out of an Acromantula nest in the Forbidden Forest,” Lily snapped.

“Fair enough,” James agreed, but with a small smile, like he, too, had used the Cloak to find Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest, or perhaps something worse. “Anyway, Harry, to finish up the story, after almost ten years of smuggling people out of Poland, Grandpa Harry got the personal attention of Grindelwald. His friends forced him to hide away for a while and managed to get him into India with his wife’s family. But even then, he couldn’t stay out of the fight. Your great-grandparents continued working to provide relief during a famine as best as they could.”

“Didn’t he marry someone called Dolly?” Harry asked, trying to recall the family tree in the book his parents had given him for his birthday last year.

“Mistress Dolly is the English name she is using when she is in England with Mister Henry,” Picksie said, “but her given name is Mistress Dipali. She is a very kind woman, helping raise Picksie when she was born to Mama…”

“You can imagine why Great-Aunt Dorea was so fond of her and Henry,” Sirius said with a wry smile. 

“It’s all in that book we gave you last year,” James said, “her story and Grandpa Harry’s, but we wanted to share his story with you on your birthday because it meant a lot to us when we learned you were coming along. Dumbledore didn’t tell us the prophecy until after Voldemort tried to kill you, but while we were in hiding, we talked a lot about my grandfather who had been hunted by Grindelwald, who had tried to help even at risk to his own life —”

“You talked a lot about him,” Lily interrupted, “and I did a lot of listening.”

James grimaced.

“But,” Lily added, “I was the one who suggested we name you after him.”

“Her exact words,” James said, “were ‘If we name our child Harry will you stop bringing him up every fifteen minutes.’ And I told her I might.”

“We had also planned,” Lily said, “to tell you the prophecy today. And we thought that your great-grandfather’s story would help put it into a bit of perspective. It’s not the prophecy that makes you destined to fight Voldemort, Harry. It’s the family you come from. It’s who you are, even beyond what your father and I — and Remus and Sirius — have taught you. We have never wanted you to feel like a weapon, like someone’s tool to be used against Voldemort. You’re our son, before anything else.”

“We never wanted —” James stopped, then started over. “We never thought that keeping the prophecy from you would turn against us the way it did. And we are sorry. When Voldemort came back, we should have told you what that meant, and why it worried us so much. And we did want to, but Dumbledore asked us to wait, and we trusted him.” He fiddled with the strap of his wristwatch. “I know Dumbledore’s done a lot for us — protected us, and protected Remus — but if we had taken a moment to trust our own judgement, to trust ourselves as your parents, then maybe we would have made the right choice.”

Harry looked down at the pocketwatch in his hand, unsure what to say. He knew what his parents were getting at, but really, the only thing he could think about was how differently this day might have gone if Voldemort had never returned in the first place. His family would have been at home. Maybe Dumbledore would have been there. Maybe James would have pretended to gift the Cloak to Harry and they would have laughed about it. Maybe the prophecy would not have felt like a curse.

It should never have been this somber event, in a small bedroom of the Burrow, with the crushing weight of a secret quest on his shoulders.

“Harry,” James said slowly, “we know that you don’t want our help, but —”

“Of course I want your help,” Harry said, and struggled to keep his voice from breaking. “I do, but I — I can’t tell you.”

Lily’s uninjured hand tightened around the hem of her skirt. “But you’ll tell Ron and Hermione? And Neville and Cedric?” He could hear how angry she was, though she tried so hard to restrain it.

Harry looked at each of them — his mother, his father, Sirius, Picksie, Remus and Tonks — and he knew that he could not give them what they wanted.

“I know you want to help,” Harry said, “but you can’t help me with this. I can’t —” He swallowed. “I have to face him. And if I let you help — if you come with me on this quest — you won’t let me fight.”

Lily opened her mouth to argue, but Harry kept talking.

“It’s not about being an adult, Mum, or you treating me like a child. It’s not. It’s that Dad lost his eye in the Department of Mysteries because he stopped to make sure I was alright. It’s that Dad nearly died on our trip to the Burrow because he came back to help me. It’s that Yaxley nearly killed you because of me, and that you dueled Voldemort in the graveyard, even when I was safely back at Hogwarts. It’s that Remus forgot to take his potion one night to try to protect me from Barty Crouch, Jr. It’s that Sirius nearly had his soul sucked out by dementors because he was trying to protect me from them. It’s that if it has to come down to me and Voldemort, I can’t have you there, too, because I know you’ll try to fight. And you can’t. You can’t help me with this.”

He knew it would not make them feel better, but he did not know what else to say. James leaned his elbows against his knees and ran both his hands through his hair. He looked so tired, more tired than Harry had ever seen him. Lily’s face and neck were blooming with red splotches, but she kept her lips pressed tightly together. 

Sirius’ voice was dangerously close to a snarl as he said, “You’re not being fair, Harry. We’re your family, and family sticks together. I said prophecy be damned the other day and I meant it. No one gets to decide you have to face Voldemort alone, not even you.”

“I never said it was fair.” Harry looked down at the unopened box in his lap. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, and Regulus had all worked to get him something, even though Tonks was the only one of them with any income at all — and she had just lost that tonight because she had joined his family. Fair wasn’t a word they could afford to live by, not now.

“What can you tell us, Harry?” Tonks asked. “I’m a trained Auror and officially a free agent as of tonight. There has to be a way we can help, even if it isn’t dueling Voldemort in your place.”

Harry shook his head. “All I can say is that Dumbledore trusted me with a job. Regulus knows what it is. He’s the one who started this task, years ago, before you even went into hiding. It’s why he faked his death, to cover up his betrayal. He’s already helped me with part of it, and I helped him finish up something he started. Dumbledore didn’t leave me to do this fight alone. He knew I would need help, and he trusted Hermione, Ron, and Neville.”

“But not us,” Remus said, “and that terrifies us, Harry. You understand that, don’t you?”

Harry did understand. He had spent most of his fifteenth year worrying over the secret missions his parents went on. He knew exactly what he was asking of his family, and he knew it was impossible to make them agree. But he didn’t have to make them agree, he had to give them just enough peace of mind to let him go.

“I think,” Harry began slowly, “that Dumbledore has always tried to do what’s best for us. Even though I was upset about the prophecy, I understand why Dumbledore wanted it to stay a secret, and why you were so worried about it. I think the best thing to do right now is to trust Dumbledore.”

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Lily said.

James reached over and took her hand, slowly loosening her tight fist until their fingers were intertwined. “You’re seventeen now, Harry, so we won’t try to stop you. But we will do everything we can to stay by your side.”

It was the best Harry could hope for, the most he could ask of them. 

“It’s a bit underwhelming now,” Remus said, “but you should open your other gift.”

Carefully, Harry pulled the lid off of the white box Remus had given to him. Inside was a slender velvet case, and when he opened it, he found an intricate watch chain. There were three chains, in fact, strung together and connected to a crest decorated with a lion. They were surprisingly heavy, and Harry guessed they were solid gold.

He looked up at Sirius, Remus, and Tonks, bewildered. “Are you… sure?”

“We knew what your parents were giving you,” Remus said, “and we thought we would give you something new to go with the old.”

“But… it’s…”

James cleared his throat and Harry belatedly remembered his manners.

“Thank you.” He very carefully attached the decorative chain to the pocket watch. “It’s perfect.”

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Tonks said. “I’m glad we were here to celebrate with you.”

She gave him another hug and kissed his cheek, and Harry could not find the words to thank her.

They said goodbye to Remus and Tonks. Tonks, though she had been downcast since her conversation with Scrimgeour, smiled and said she was happy to attend the wedding tomorrow now that she did not have to go into the office. Remus, however, did not smile, and Harry did not like the look in his eyes. It reminded him of the way Remus had looked in St Mungo’s last summer — cold, closed off, and ready to run.

After he and Sirius had seen Remus and Tonks out, Harry started upstairs to Ron’s room, but Sirius grabbed his arm.

“Harry,” he said, voice unusually sharp, “James may be willing to let you run off on some dangerous mission just because you’re an adult, but I’m not going to let you do this alone. I don’t care what they’ve decided. You’ll be hard-pressed to get rid of me.”

Harry had not considered that Sirius, with his unwavering loyalty and fear of repeating his mistakes from the first war, would be the hardest to convince to accept Dumbledore’s secret quest. He searched desperately for something to ease Sirius’ fear.

“What about with Umbridge? You were willing to let me make my own decision about that.”

Sirius’ frown turned into a vicious scowl. “That was different. We knew where you were — you could come home at any time. You had an out. If you go, Harry, there may not be a way to turn back.”

Harry thought of the Horcrux tucked under the pillow on the camp bed. He was already beyond the point of turning back. Maybe if he had refused to destroy the locket, had insisted Dumbledore or Regulus destroy it, maybe that had been his last chance to turn down this quest.

Or would it have been retrieving Slughorn’s memory? Or the moment he had decided to face Voldemort in the graveyard? Or the moment he had decided to get to the Philosopher’s Stone before Voldemort?

There had never been a turning back point. His path had always been headed this way, since his great-grandfather had decided to fight evil, since his parents had joined the Order, since a prophecy had been set — it was all far larger than Harry, and though he knew he had a choice, he didn’t really, not if he wanted to stay true to who he was.

Just as Sirius, too, did not have any choice.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, for there was nothing else to say.

He pulled away from Sirius and climbed the stairs to Ron’s bedroom. His feet were heavy as he did, and he thought that if he wasn’t careful his entire chest would pull him down to the ground as if he had been struck by a _Solum_ jinx.

A strange sound from his parents’ room made him pause on the landing. His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he recognised the uncommon sound of his mother crying. She was always the one who was quick to anger, ready with a Blasting Curse, and Harry’s heart crawled up into his throat as he heard her unfiltered grief.

He could not hear what his father said, but he recognised the tone of comfort, the attempts to soothe her heartache.

“Oh — stop,” she snapped at him, and choked on a sob. “I can’t change Harry’s mind, I can’t bring Dumbledore back, I can’t repair my wand —”

“You aren’t helpless.” James’ voice was raised ever so slightly, only just audible over her sobs. “We will be there for Harry, as much as we can be, and you know this. We just have to trust that Dumbledore knew what he was doing.”

“He’s our son, James, we can’t —”

“We won’t.”

Harry hurried upstairs, stepping lightly to avoid the creaks. Unfortunately he did not know the steps at the Burrow as well as he knew the steps in Styncon Garden, and there were quite a few squeaks in his wake.

When he opened the door to Ron’s room and was surprised to find it empty. He frowned, wondering where Ron could have gotten to. Then he heard, “Finally — I was starting to think your parents had Apparated away with you.”

Harry turned toward the balcony to see Ginny leaning against its frame. 

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Only since Ron and I finished the washing up.”

“Where is he?”

“He said he was going to check on the chickens. Kind of him, really.”

Though his chest still ached, he gave Ginny a weak smile and joined her on the balcony.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

Harry looked up at the clear sky and the constellations that decorated it. He thought of his failed Astronomy O.W.L. and the centaurs’ warnings about Mars. Seven years ago they had warned him that war was coming — no, warned wasn’t the right word. They’d simply observed it.

Harry did not want to be an observer, and he could not blame his parents for refusing to stand by, either.

“Should I tell my parents what I’m going to do?” he asked Ginny. It was not the answer to her question, but it was the closest he could get.

Ginny did not answer right away. She leaned against him, despite the warm night. Harry obligingly put his arm around her shoulder, but unlike during the early mornings they had spent together, Harry’s mind did not still. It continued to turn over everything his parents had said, the sad smile on Tonks’ face, the terror in Remus’ voice, and the fury in Sirius. 

“Is Dumbledore the only reason you’re keeping it a secret?” she asked.

“No,” Harry said. “I know that they won’t let me face Voldemort — and I won’t watch them die trying to protect me from something I can’t avoid. I have to be the one to face him.”

“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind, then.”

Harry let out a slow breath but the pain in his chest did not relax.

“Hey,” she said, and elbowed him gently, “don’t you want to know what I got you for your birthday?”

He pulled his eyes from the stars and turned to look at her. “What? No — you didn’t have to get me anything, I —”

“Took me a while to come up with it. I thought I couldn’t get you anything big, since you’ll probably be traveling. I wanted it to be useful, but I figured Hermione had all that covered. Still, I thought I ought to get you something to remember me by.”

“Ginny, you don’t —”

She cut him off with a kiss.

They’d had quite a few kisses on the balcony this summer — perhaps more than Ron might like to know about — but none quite like this one. She tangled her hand in his hair and his hand slid to the small of her back, almost instinctively, pulling her closer. It was deeper, longer than their kisses from before… 

Until there was a loud bang in Ron’s room.

Harry remembered Mrs Weasley’s bold entry the other day and practically leapt off of the balcony in an attempt to get away from Ginny. He knocked over Ginny’s broom, and his elbow collided with the bannister. A jolt of pain coursed through his arm to his fingertips. He winced and tried to rub the sensation away. It did not help.

“Thanks for the warning, Ron,” Ginny snapped.

Ron sank down on his bed and looked at the two of them, eyes full of something Harry couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t judgement, but it was definitely uncomfortable.

“I spent half an hour with the chickens! What more did you want from me?”

“The whole damn night,” Ginny muttered, but only for Harry’s ears, which burned suddenly.

“Er — Good night, Ginny,” Harry said, hating how formal his voice sounded all of a sudden.

She quirked an eyebrow, then kissed his cheek. “Night, Harry. Sweet dreams. And happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated.
> 
> Chapter 8: The Wedding Reception coming March, 2021.


	8. The Wedding Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny attends her brother's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience as we work through the school year! It's certainly been a challenging year in a lot of ways and it's looking like it won't get any easier before the end. I'll continue to keep you all posted on the update schedule as we approach summer.
> 
> I hope you're safe and well! Enjoy this chapter. It went through quite a few drafts before I finally got something I was happy with.

Ginny did not hear much of Bill and Fleur’s vows. The ceremony was lovely, really, and Fleur looked stunning, of course. Her beauty was so radiant that it made Bill, with his scars and all, more handsome just for standing beside her. Fleur was dressed in a silvery white gown and Ginny and Gabrielle in gold, and there were Flutterby bushes and golden balloons — all of it was absolutely wonderful, but by the time Bill and Fleur exchanged their first married kiss, all Ginny could think of was how much she would like to sit down.

Despite the painful pressure on her toes, she stood beside Gabrielle and Charlie as the wedding guests came to offer their congratulations and a photographer snapped shots of the wedding party. Charlie ran a hand through his short hair, probably missing all of the inches Molly had cut off last night just as much as Ginny was missing her trainers. Gabrielle fidgeted discreetly with the small bouquet, better poised than Ginny but probably just as eager to be done standing in front of a crowd.

Still, Ginny smiled as a dozen Weasley relatives paraded by and wished Bill and Fleur well. There were half as many Delacours, all with the grace and charm that Fleur, her mother, and sister shared, and all clearly descended from the same Veela grandmother. 

Hagrid and Madame Maxime came to give their well-wishes, too. Hagrid wiped tears from his eyes after greeting the happy couple, and he stopped to shake Charlie’s hand.

“How’s Norbert?” he asked.

Charlie grinned. “She’s Norberta, and she’s vicious. She’s doing just fine on her own.”

Madame Maxime said something in French to Gabrielle, and Ginny tried not to look bored as she scanned the line of well-wishers. Xenophilius Lovegood’s bright yellow robes stood out like the first bloom after a frost. She did not see Luna nearby, but she did see the Potters, the Lupins, and the Longbottoms clustered together — with Sirius Black, of course.

She met Harry's eyes and straightened her posture. She thoroughly enjoyed the way his ears darkened as he looked at her. Great-Aunt Muriel may have complained about the cut of Ginny’s dress, but Ginny had no complaints, and she didn’t think Harry did either.

Her dad had suggested that the Potters disguise themselves for the wedding, but in the end, the Potters had decided that it wasn’t necessary. It would be obvious who they really were unless they distanced their false appearances from everyone they knew, and in that case, Lily had pointed out, why attend a wedding at all. Ginny was glad for it, because it meant she could kiss Harry openly.

“You look stunning,” he said, as his parents congratulated Bill and Fleur. 

She grinned, and for a moment, forgot about her shoes. “Thanks. You look nice too.”

Harry looked down at his robes. Apart from his new watch chain, they were the same robes that he had worn to Dumbledore’s funeral, but she hadn’t said anything about them then. It hadn’t seemed right, even though she had thought it. Harry cleaned up well, and she liked that his hair never flattened properly. It made him look roguish and rebellious, qualities she had always appreciated in her heroes.

“Oh, ‘arry,” Fleur interrupted, turning from James and Lily for a moment, “Papa ‘as inseested zat we take a photo with all of ze Champions. I will find you after ze dance, _oui_?”

“Er — sure.”

Ginny squeezed Harry’s hands. “Could you save me a seat? I think the line’s almost done with.”

“You don’t want to dance?”

“I would like nothing more than to sit down and kick off these shoes for a minute, please.”

“Alright, then.” He glanced nervously at his parents, but when he saw they were turned away to say something to the Longbottoms, he kissed her.

Ginny, who had done everything she could to abandon shyness, could not help but find Harry’s embarrassment cute. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think she liked everything about Harry, and maybe someday she would grow annoyed with his modesty around his parents, but right now, she loved everything — well, almost everything.

She had to admit, she was not fond of this dangerous quest business. Though she had always admired Harry for his bravery and his commitment to doing the right thing, she wished that didn’t come with a year of separation for them. It was hard not to feel abandoned, even though she knew that wasn’t the truth of the matter at all.

At least she knew that the mirror was tucked safely in her trunk. She did feel some guilt about having taken it from James and Lily — but not enough to return it.

And anyway, she did not truly believe that Harry would be separated from them all together. James, Lily, and Sirius would not let Harry be on his own for long. They didn’t need the mirror, not as much as she did.

At least, that was what she told herself, and what she had told Hermione when Hermione had asked her if this was the right choice.

The band began to play the song for Bill and Fleur’s first dance, and Ginny slipped away as quickly as she could without seeming anxious to get away. She found Harry seated at a table with Luna, Neville, Ron, and Hermione, and she gratefully sank into the open seat next to Harry.

“You look lovely, Ginny,” Luna said with a smile.

Ginny smiled and reached down to undo the strap of her heel. “You do too, Luna.”

Luna smiled. Her robes were as brightly colored as her father’s, and while they stood out, they suited Luna. 

“I told Daddy everyone would be in dress robes,” she said, “but he believes you ought to wear sun colours to a wedding, for luck, you know.”

Ginny looked down at her gold dress. “Close enough.”

The tent was filled with applause as the song ended. The band followed up with another slow waltz; Ginny’s father took Mrs. Delacour’s hand, and Mr. Delacour took her mother’s. Slowly, the dance floor filled with couples.

“Oh, I love this song,” Luna said dreamily, and stood.

“Er — could I join you?” Neville asked, his cheeks bright pink.

Luna beamed.

Ron pursed his lips as Luna twirled in a circle and pulled Neville into the spin with her. He stumbled over his own feet, but successfully avoided a full sprawl into the floor.

“I suppose that fits alright,” Ron said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ginny asked, not caring to shield the acid in her voice.

“Er — you know. They’re just… er — Hermione, care for a dance?”

Hermione looked pleased to be asked, and readily took Ron’s hand.

Ginny frowned as Ron disappeared into the crowd. She felt particularly protective of Luna and Neville, having briefly dated each of them — or at least, she had gone on a date with each of them. Though neither outing had formed into a lasting relationship, she cared very much for the two of them, and did not think it fair of Ron to disparage them in any way.

Next to her, Harry stifled a yawn, and Ginny leaned her head against his shoulder. 

“Not sleeping well without me?” she teased.

He hummed thoughtfully, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He did not answer her question, though.

Harry had a habit of getting lost in his own head. She had first noticed it during their shared summer in Grimmauld Place. His vacant expression would appear towards the end of meals, or sometimes in the middle of cleaning. Hermione had speculated that it might be the side-effect of a dementor attack, but Ginny knew better, because Ginny still got lost in her own mind from time to time. Sometimes, it was just too easy to walk the paths of dark memories. She didn’t know why her mind veered towards dangerous corridors habitually, like a familiar road home, but she worked very hard to tread new paths, to forge brighter places to walk. She wanted Harry to forge those new paths, too.

“Harry?” Ginny asked. “You still in there?”

“Er — sorry. Just… Do you know someone named Gregorovitch?”

Ginny frowned and racked her brain for the name. She came up blank. “You don’t mean Gorgovitch? From the Chudley Cannons?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were still distant, still wandering “No. I don’t think so. But maybe it does have something to do with Quidditch…”

“Where did you hear it?”

“In a dream.”

Ginny shook her head. “Well, I can’t think of any Quidditch players named Gregorovitch. At least not in Britain.” She was about to suggest Harry ask Ron, though she doubted Ron would have any better ideas, when she saw Viktor Krum standing near the dance floor, with a drink in his hand, chatting with Cedric Diggory.

“You could ask Krum,” she suggested. “He probably knows the names of loads more international players than I do.”

Harry’s brow creased. “Krum… — Oh, no. Fleur’s found them.”

“She’s waving you over.” Ginny slid her shoes back on and regretted it instantly. Her feet throbbed before she had even finished fastening the straps.

“I don’t want to pose for anymore Triwizard Champions photos.”

“Don’t worry; there won’t be another until they trot you all out in a hundred years to revive the competition, when you’re all withered and grey. Take this one. It’s the last one you’ll look good in.”

Harry laughed, and Ginny smiled, despite her feet. She took his hand as they left their seats.

“ _Venez vite_!” Fleur said, waving her hand. Even as hurried as she was, she made the wave look graceful.

Harry picked up his pace with a strained smile. Ginny lagged behind, afraid to tumble in her tight, tall shoes.

She wondered how much more of this there would be if Harry survived the war, how many more photographs Harry would be dragged into. He was The Chosen One, the saviour of the Wizarding World, and five years from now, ten years from now… How would she fit into all of that?

Ginny hastily banished the thought. She didn’t like to think that far into the future. It was full of too much uncertainty. _If Harry survived._ If Ron survived. If Hermione survived. If her parents survived, her brothers —

For now, she was just happy to have today.

“They really do make quite the intimidating set,” a young man beside Ginny said.

She frowned up at the vaguely familiar face, tried to place the pale blonde hair and green eyes. He was graceful enough to be a cousin of Fleur’s but something nagged in her that she had seen him at Hogwarts before.

He carried two drinks, but he did not offer one to her. When he realised she was staring, he raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t remember me? That’s alright. You were about waist-high last time we met. I’m Christian Thelborne. I’d shake your hand, but —” He held up the two goblets apologetically.

His name slid into Ginny’s memory like a nail splintering wood. He was a former Gryffindor prefect, and during her first year at Hogwarts, he had caught her out of bed after hours. He had walked her back to Gryffindor Tower and had promised not to mention a word of their encounter to Percy. Ginny didn’t remember much about that night, except that she had been stressed to the point of tears, and Percy scolding her had been just a tiny part of that stress.

“Sorry,” she said, and tried to focus on the balloons that drifted behind Christian’s head, rather than recalling that dark Hogwarts corridor. “I don’t remember much of my first year.”

“I try not to remember mine, either,” he said with a grimace. “Fell flat on my face in my first flying lesson. Put me off Quidditch forever.”

Ginny laughed politely, grateful for the shift in conversation. Her gratitude, however, did not last long.

“Percy says you’re a fair flyer yourself.”

“More than fair,” she said, perhaps a bit more heatedly than Christian deserved, but not nearly as much as Percy deserved. 

“Shame he isn’t here. I was looking forward to slipping a Cockroach Cluster into his drink for old times’ sake.”

“I’m sure he’s working,” she snapped, and wished desperately for Christian to stop talking.

“Scrimgeour gave him the day off, actually. I’m not sure that makes it any better, knowing he had a choice.”

Ginny bit down on her tongue to refrain from making any further disparaging comments, and to simply end the conversation. She had spent the hour before the ceremony consoling her mother, who had tearfully suggested they should delay another ten minutes, twenty minutes, that perhaps he was running late, perhaps he had gotten stuck or splinched. She would not add to her mother’s grief by letting her know that Scrimgeour had given Percy leave to attend today, and Percy had still refused it.

Her silence, apparently, communicated all of that better than her acrid tone had.

“I’m sorry,” Christian said. “He and I were good friends once upon a time. I just thought — ah, it looks like our boys have finished with the spotlight for now.”

Fleur kissed each of her fellow Champions on the cheek and flitted off to greet other guests. Ginny hoped that Fleur would pause for a moment to eat or enjoy Bill’s company, but she doubted a bride was afforded that sort of privilege on her wedding day. Ginny privately vowed that whenever that day came for her, she would only have close friends nearby, and it would be nothing more ostentatious than a Quidditch Cup victory celebration.

The only trick to it would be making sure her mother didn’t catch wind of the wedding until it was about to begin.

Now that the photographs had concluded, Ginny and Christian rejoined the group of Champions. Ginny wrapped her arm around Harry’s, and thought he looked just as relieved to be done with photographs as she was to be free of her uncomfortable conversation with Christian. Christian handed one of his glasses to Cedric.

“Thanks,” Cedric said, and took a sip of the drink “Harry, I don’t know if you’ve met Christian Thelborne —”

“I’m surprised we haven’t met yet,” Christian said, and shook Harry’s hand. “I was a prefect for Gryffindor your first few years at Hogwarts. Your mother was one of my favourite professors.”

“Er — sorry I don’t remember you,” Harry said.

“You had a lot going on those first few years. And every year thereafter, from what Cedric’s said.”

“I think we all had a lot going on,” Cedric said. “They ought to change the school motto to ‘never an uneventful year.’”

“Not a bad idea. My first year, a curse had people Sleepwalking into the Forbidden Forest,” Christian said, with a laugh that didn’t match his words. “Had all of us firsties terrified to go to bed at night.”

Krum frowned. “That sounds horrible.”

“A student was killed in my first year,” Cedric said, staring thoughtfully into his glass. “I didn’t know them but it certainly… set a tone.”

Ginny had only been eight years old that year, but she remembered when Charlie had come home from Hogwarts. He hadn’t been the same Charlie that hed left. Sure, he would still coax gnomes out of their garden with treats and still fall asleep in the chicken coop, but he had quit Quidditch and spent more time on his own than playing with her that summer.

Tragedy changed people. It had changed her, it had changed Harry — and her gut twisted as she considered that tragedy was far from over for all of them. 

Ginny swallowed and pushed down her fears. In search of a lighter topic of conversation, she asked, “Krum, how are the playoffs shaping up?”

“Senegal looks very good this year,” Krum said quickly, clearly grateful for the lifeline. “Ve vere supposed to play Ireland last week but Ryan did not show and they had to forfeit. It vas not the satisfying rematch I had hoped for.”

“Didn’t I read that you’re practically qualified for the Cup already?” Cedric asked.

“Perhaps. Ve are doing vell in our group, but I do not think ve vill get very far in the playoffs.” Krum shrugged, but Ginny could see the disappointment in his dark eyes. “Vat about you, Cedric, and you, Harry? Vill either of you be going out for a team for the next Cup?”

“I don’t think I’m quite good enough,” Harry admitted. “Maybe in a few years — I mean, I’ve only really won the school championship one time. Every other time, well, it was mostly Ginny. Maybe you’ll be playing against her in a few years.”

“Perhaps I vill.” Krum said. “If she is as good a flyer as you vere vith that dragon, she vill have no trouble finding a team.”

“She’s much better,” Harry promised.

Ginny could not contain her smile. “I’ll see you at the oh-two cup, certainly.”

“I am counting on it,” Krum said with a small nod and a faint smile, something Ginny did not think he showed very often.

Krum’s smile, however, was brief. It turned into a rather dark scowl at something over Ginny’s shoulder. “Who is that?” he asked, voice low. “And vat is he vearing?”

Ginny glanced behind her, unsure what had Krum so angry. She squinted at the crowd of guests, most seated and talking or filling the dance floor. No one stood out as particularly offensive, except perhaps the Lovegoods’ bright yellow robes.

“D’you mean Xenophilius Lovegood?” Harry asked. “I think yellow robes are supposed to be lucky at a wedding, or something.”

“No,” Krum said. “I do not mean his robes. I mean the symbol around his neck.”

Ginny had to squint to see the silver charm dangling from the chain around Xenophilius’ neck. She hadn’t noticed it when he had greeted the wedding party, but she had been preoccupied by everything else he was wearing. She didn’t recognise the strange triangle enclosing a round eye, but surely it was just another Lovegood eccentricity.

Christian, though, made a noise of disgust that matched Krum’s scowl. “I can’t imagine someone would be comfortable sporting Grindelwald’s symbol like that, and in this crowd no less.”

“Grindelwald?” Ginny frowned. “The Dark wizard?”

“It does have a history beyond Grindelwald,” Christian said, “but that doesn’t really matter. I remember assigning a mouthy Ravenclaw a week of detention for etching it into one of his textbooks.”

“There vere always supporters of Grindelvald at Durmstrang, even after his imprisonment in Nurmengard, and those of us who had lost family to Grindelvald vere alvays happy to put them in their place.”

Harry stared at Krum. “I didn’t know…”

“Vy vould you? My grandfather was just one of many that he killed. Grindelvald vas never as poverful in this country. You do not learn his history apart from Dumbledore defeating him.”

“I was taught plenty, but my great-grandfather died fighting Grindelwald.” Christian took another sip of his drink. “I’m named after him.”

Harry looked surprised. “Er — me too. My great-grandfather fought Grindelwald, and that’s why my parents named me after him.”

Christian raised his eyebrows. “An honour we get to share in, then. May we each do them proud.”

Cedric, in a very small and easy to miss gesture, reached for Christian’s hand and squeezed it. Christian did not react, but Ginny wondered how many conversations they must have had about Grindelwald, and about Voldemort.

“Ve vill all do our part,” Krum said, and pulled out his wand to Refill his glass.

Harry stiffened, suddenly, and blurted out, “Gregorovitch!”

Krum frowned. “Yes?”

“Er — nothing. Nevermind. Sorry. I just remembered your wand wasn’t made by Ollivander, that’s all.”

“Is that important?”

“I just — er — was trying to remember — I thought —”

Ginny had always found Harry to be a terrible liar, but he was floundering spectacularly in this moment. She decided to lend him a hand.

“His mum lost her wand in a duel,” Ginny supplied. “With Ollivander still missing, we weren't sure where she might get a replacement.”

Krum nodded. “I haff heard of Ollivander’s disappearance. But I am afraid Gregorovitch cannot help your mother. He retired years ago. I vos one of the last to purchase a vand from him.”

“Lily Potter doesn’t have a wand?” Christian asked with a slight frown. 

“When Yaxley blew up my parents’ home,” Cedric said, “he nearly took Lily with it.”

“You didn’t mention that she was there.”

Cedric shrugged. “I didn't think it mattered.”

But Cedric did not meet Christian’s eyes, and Christian stared at him with a frown that Ginny was unfortunately familiar with. She had too much experience with half-spoken fights and half-hidden secrets in relationships. Though she knew that Cedric and Christian would have to discuss this, perhaps a wedding was not the best place for it.

“How is staying with Mad-Eye?” she asked Cedric. “I imagine coming home must require thirteen passwords and seven incantations.”

Cedric gave her a smile, full of relief and humour in equal measure. “You're half-right. I had never loved my job more than the days when coming home meant facing an Azkaban-level interrogation. It's nice to be shot of that, finally.”

Harry frowned. “Have your parents fixed your house already?”

“Well, Christian’s lease was up, and he and Anne wanted a bigger space, so he asked —”

“Begged,” Christian corrected with a smile.

“Fine, Christian begged me to move in with him.”

“It took weeks of convincing. While I would love to see Yaxley in Azkaban, I can't help but think if he hadn’t forced you to live with Mad-Eye, you never would have agreed.”

“When are you moving in?” Harry asked.

Ginny frowned at Harry, and tried to understand why there was anger in his question. Christian, despite his inane need to bring up her estranged brother and his distaste for Quidditch, seemed pleasant enough. Why shouldn't Harry be happy that Cedric had an easy escape from Mad-Eye’s house?

“This morning,” Cedric said. “We’ve got a good deal of unpacking to do tonight.” He turned to Krum. “Do you have a match tomorrow? If not, come over and help. Anne’s promised to have some bottles ready to break the place in.”

Ginny laced her fingers into Harry’s suddenly tight fist. She did not understand his frustration, but she knew it would be best to get them both away to talk about it. 

“Harry,” she said, “I’m afraid my feet are killing me. Can we sit down?”

Once they had made their polite exit and were well away from Christian, Cedric, and Krum, Ginny asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Harry said. He pulled out a seat for her at an empty table, but she did not take it.

“Harry James Potter, don't you lie to me after I gave you a lovely out from a conversation that upset you.”

He grimaced and she thought she ought to use his full name more often.

“It's just —” He ran his hand through his hair. “I thought Cedric was leaving with me, that's all. But it certainly sounded like he was making plans for the opposite.”

Ginny, glad that Harry had given her the honest answer, took a seat. “It could be a cover.”

“Then why only agree to move in with Christian after Yaxley’s attack?” he asked, and practically fell into the seat beside her. “That was less than a week ago, and we had just talked about…” Harry glanced around, but there did not appear to be anyone listening. He leaned closer to Ginny and lowered his voice all the same. “Hermione and Ron put all this effort into disappearing without getting caught. But Cedric’s making more commitments, and even long-term plans. It doesn't sound like he’s thinking about hunting… you-know-whats. I just wish he had told me that he had changed his mind, I guess.”

Ginny frowned. Cedric was not the sort who backed away from a fight. He might take a while to get there, but he showed up. He had supported Harry in the interview with Rita Skeeter, and had even taken what he could of Umbridge’s abuse in order to shield Harry. He had insisted on following Harry into the Department of Mysteries, even when Regulus had advised against it. She did not think Cedric would abandon Harry now, not when they were so close to finishing this.

“I’m sure Cedric knows what he’s doing,” she finally said. 

“I don't know how I would do this without him.”

Ginny squeezed his hand. She, too, did not know what she would do if Ron, Hermione, and Harry had to strike out on their own. Knowing that Cedric and Regulus were involved in this quest gave her some peace of mind. Yes, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were of age now but it wasn’t the same as Cedric, who was nearly a full-fledged Auror, or Regulus, who had fought in the first war, albeit on the wrong side.

“Why are you dreaming about a foreign wandmaker?” she asked, and grabbed a bottle of champagne that drifted past Harry’s head.

Harry watched her pour the champagne into two flutes. He did not answer right away, and she wondered if he was searching for a lie. Then he said, “I think Voldemort’s hunting him. I don’t know why. He has Ollivander…”

“You’re dreaming about Ollivander, too?”

Harry grimaced. “Sort of.”

“Is that… safe?” Ginny didn’t know much about Harry’s Occlumency lessons with Snape, but she did remember his parents had valued Occlumency over their hatred of Umbridge, and that said a lot.

“You mean is Ollivander safe? He isn’t.”

“I mean your dreams, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “Safe or not, I can’t exactly help it. Not unless —” He ducked his head, and looked away. She thought for a moment he wasn’t going to finish his thought and she was going to have to push him again, but he mumbled, “not unless you want to sleep next to me every night.”

She was certain that she had misheard him. “What?”

“I don’t… I don’t dream about Voldemort when I’m with you. Not that I don’t have dreams — and not that I don’t have bad dreams — but it’s different.”

Her face flushed and her stomach filled with Flitterby bushes. “Oh —”

“Ginny!” A pair of heavy hands planted itself on her shoulders. She jumped and spilled her champagne onto the table. “What’s a young thing like you doing sitting down at an event like this? You should be out on the dance floor!”

Ginny, though she was startled and a bit annoyed to have been interrupted, smiled up at her uncle. Uncle Gideon was her favourite uncle, after all. She could forgive him this intrusion.

“In these shoes?” she said. “My feet are pressed tighter than a goat caught in a dragon’s maw.”

Gideon laughed as he fell into the seat next to her. His large belly jostled the table, again knocking over the glass she had just righted, and his lankier brother, Fabian, leaned against it to steady it as he also took a seat.

“Why aren’t you two out on the dance floor?” she shot back and refilled her glass.

Fabian shrugged as he reached into his coat and pulled out a pipe. “No one’s interested in a man with only one hand for caressing.”

Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Sorry that I asked.”

But she grinned as she said it. She’d always liked Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon’s sense of humour. She didn’t know how they’d been raised by the same parents as her over-worried and controlling mother, but they’d gained a special place in Ginny’s heart when they had gifted her her first broom for her fifth birthday.

Gideon used his wand to light Fabian’s pipe, then stuffed his own. “So, Potter, Molly tells us you plan to be off and running soon.”

“Er — yeah, something like that.”

“Molly asked us to talk Ron out of it,” Fabian murmured. He took a long, slow draw on his pipe. “Don’t think we stand much chance of that, and less chance of talking you out of it.”

“I’ve made up my mind,” Harry said. “And Ron’s welcome to make his own decision.”

Ginny reached under the table for Harry’s hand. She did not know if Fabian or Gideon heard the sting in Harry’s voice, but after hearing his concerns about Cedric, it was obvious to her that even the question of Ron leaving hurt. 

Gideon shook his head. “No need to draw wands about it. Secrets are part and parcel for the Order — and for Dumbledore.”

“But,” Fabian added in a low voice, “secrets have consequences. Are you prepared for that, Harry?”

“Of course I am,” Harry said quickly. “I’ve faced Voldemort before.”

Gideon lit his pipe. “Our advice is to know when to back down, when to cut and run — and when to ask for help.”

“It’s better,” Fabian added, “to fight another day than to never fight again, even if it means coming home missing a piece or two.”

“I have help,” Harry said. “Regulus knows what we have to do.”

This did not bring Ginny’s uncles any comfort. 

Gideon frowned. “I remember bringing Black in. Escorted him and his friends in and out of Azkaban for their trial, too.”

“Didn’t trust anyone else,” Fabian added. “Though I always thought it would be the Lestranges who pulled something first.”

“You never suspected that Barty Crouch would escape?” Ginny asked.

“Not for a minute,” Gideon grunted. “Thought the kid would die in there, and wasn’t surprised when that was the news that came out a few weeks later. Apparently Black’s the one we should have watched out for. Though I can’t say I expected him to live very long, either. There wasn’t much left of him when we found him.”

“No,” Fabian agreed quietly, “not much of him at all. The trial nearly did him in, too.” He stared at the crowd of dancers thoughtfully. “I had always had the idea that he and Barty were dueling when we found them, though I could never decide over what. And Black never said anything to suggest that he hadn’t been at that house with Barty and the Lestranges.”

“Dumbledore said that Regulus betrayed Voldemort, and wanted to keep his betrayal a secret,” Harry said. “Maybe he was more afraid of Voldemort than of Azkaban.”

“But by then, Voldemort was long dead,” Gideon grunted. “If he wanted to be on our side, he had plenty of chances to offer it. Even when we met him after Voldemort’s return, Dumbledore only ever told us that Black was willing to offer information to the Order, but we weren’t to trust him any further than that. I saw the appeal of having an informant, but it always felt a bit like keeping a snake in the cradle.”

“I suppose the snake was Snape all along,” Fabian said. His gaze and voice were still distant, as if he had forgotten he was participating in the conversation.

Harry tensed beside Ginny and she squeezed his hand again. She had never liked Snape either, but his complete betrayal had shocked her, too. It must have been so much worse for Harry, who had believed that Snape loved Lily. It must have been so much worse for the Potters, to know that it was Snape who had shared the prophecy with Voldemort in the first place.

“It feels like we always should have known,” Gideon said. “But that’s what everyone said about Pettigrew, too.”

“What did people say about Peter?” Harry asked quickly.

Gideon shrugged. “That he was quiet, bumbling, and easily persuaded. That it was obvious he was the mole.”

“But,” Fabian’s attention returned to the table, “everyone said the same of Sirius that first week after the attack on the Potters. That he was a Black, that he had always hated Lily, that it was obvious he would betray the Potters. People changed their tune quickly after they learned that Pettigrew was responsible.”

Ginny frowned. “Are you saying it’s never obvious?”

“Nothing is in war,” Gideon said. “All we do is built on lies and secrets. It comes with the job.”

“No one knew that better than Dumbledore,” Fabian said. “I expect that’s why no one ever knew him very well.”

“Doge knew him alright,” Gideon said. “Better than the rest of us, anyway.”

“Even better than Aberforth, I’d wager.”

“Who’s Aberforth?” Ginny asked.

“Dumbledore’s brother,” Fabian said. “Younger, I think.”

Harry frowned. “I think I saw a photograph of him once. Isn’t he in the Order?”

Gideon shrugged. “He feeds us information from time to time.”

“Was he at Dumbledore’s funeral?” Ginny asked.

Fabian and Gideon frowned at each other, as if each expected the other to know.

“I don’t recall,” Fabian finally said.

Ginny considered her own absent brother. If Greyback had killed Bill back in June, and her family had gathered for a funeral instead of a wedding, would Percy have attended?

“I wonder what they fought over,” she murmured.

“Doge wrote in his obituary that they never quite recovered after their sister died,” Gideon said. “They had a rather public fight over her grave in Godric’s Hollow. I expect something as tragic as that could very easily tear a family apart.”

“Godric’s Hollow?” Harry asked. “She’s buried there?”

“It’s where Dumbledore spent most of his youth,” Fabian said. “At least, when he wasn’t at Hogwarts.”

Harry frowned. “I never knew…”

“Most of us didn’t,” said Fabian. “Like Gideon said — lies and secrets come with what we do.”

“But Dumbledore hasn’t always led the Order,” Harry said. “Even before —”

“Even before the Order there was Grindelwald,” Gideon said. “The Wizarding World has looked to Dumbledore as a leader and defender for forty years. A man like that doesn’t get to be a man, not even to his friends.”

“He’s simply a legend,” Fabian said. “A fate I pray none of us have to live with, especially you, Harry.”

Harry fingered the stem of his champagne glass with a brooding face. Ginny searched for something to say to pull him out of his head again. 

“Harry,” she tried for a bright voice, “how about that dance?”

He blinked at her. “Er — are you sure —”

She was already on her feet and pulling him out of his chair. “Come on, I really like this song.”

Harry did not look convinced, but he followed her all the same, and they both made hasty goodbyes to her uncles.

“I was getting a bit tired of all of that anyway,” she said as she led him to the dance floor.

“I thought it was interesting.”

“Talking about dying?”

“Talking about Dumbledore. I don’t know, I think if I knew him better, maybe I’d understand what he wanted me to do next.”

As they reached the crowd of dancers, Ginny put Harry’s hands on her waist. “Doge is supposed to be here somewhere,” she said. “Do you want to ask him?”

His hands pressed against her dress of their own accord and he pulled her a little closer. “No, I do want to dance. Maybe after —”

But there would be no after. A silver streak of light passed through the party and came to a halt in the center of the dance floor. It took the form of a lynx, glittering like a star against the backdrop of golden lights strung up in the tent.

The music stopped abruptly, and through the silence, Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep voice boomed, “ _The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll see you on April 2 for "A Place To Hide"!
> 
> Comments and headcanons always appreciated.


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